The Unforgiven
by ugahill
Summary: Dean and Sam take a job investigating a strange disturbance in the quiet town of Campeon, Texas. But not everything is as it seems, as the shadows of old trusts becomes the shades of new deceptions, and everyone, in one way or another, is unforgiven.
1. Prologue

_Just a few notes going in…_

_I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read this, and I hope it will be worth your time. I enjoyed writing it very much._

_Though I wrote a fun fic in "Cherish" this story actually goes through some things I'd love to see happen on our favorite show. Having Dean and Sam meet up with a family who sees things a little more from their perspective would be so good for the Winchesters, and I think it would be good for the females in the show to finally get a woman not interested in them romantically, but platonically._

_That's exactly what Angela is intended to be—a platonic interest. And while this seems difficult with the boys, I did work hard to try and make an honest relationship between all of them. I hope it worked._

_To clear up any typecasting questions, the Hispanic references in here are all mine—i.e., from my experiences. Campeon is based on a beloved little town in South Texas that my grandmother hails from, and everything Roberto and Angela do and say—the Spanglish, the tortillas, everything—are a reflection of things I grew up with. They would actually probably speak a little more Spanish, but with no footnotes, I could only give them a few choice words._

_The Unforgiven is based upon the song by Metallica; if you've never heard it and you have an ear for heavy guitar, go get it. It's magnificent. This isn't a song fic, but as Angela says at one point, there is a little Unforgiven in all of them._

_Thanks for reading. _

The Unforgiven

Prologue

There was a bite to the air; a cool, sharp chill that froze the workings of the town of Campeon. Families huddled together in their small homes, most of them wrapped in blankets and near stoves, trying to fight off the uncustomary cold that had blown this far south.

Margarita Valdez welcomed the north winds; they meant less attention from the authorities and her parents, who would be too concerned with the incoming cold to worry about whether she made it home in time. And since the Lake Samuel State park, in the woods of which she was currently standing, was at least twenty minutes from home, she'd need them not to care.

It meant she could spend a few more minutes with David.

He was late, though. He should know better.

A low howl echoed through the air, from somewhere behind her. Lake Samuel was part of the Llano 'canyon' area, though there wasn't much of a canyon to be seen, unless you counted the small, flat mesa that rolled above it—and these low woods sprawled out across the Texas prairie for miles. There were coyotes in those wilds, and perhaps a few wolves.

And the Chupacabra, of course.

The howl echoed again, and Margarita grinned. The Chupacabra was a famous local legend, which used the canyon's eerie history to scare children into bed at night. Local farmers had used every ounce of the legend to create publicity for their herds; at least one found one or more of their creatures had been attacked every month. Only those in Campeon knew that the missing goats and cows were the victims of the extremely average local creatures.

There was a rustling in the brush and she jumped, her heart racing. _Lobo?_

_Wolf?_

What made that come to mind? There hadn't been reports of wolves in this area for years, except for a couple of research 'introduction' projects.

A silver glimmer flashed through the trees. She froze, watching through the darkness for moving scrub.

_Where is it? Where did it go?_

If it was a wolf, it was dangerous. No reason to tempt fate.

There was more rustling. She whirled around, fists clenched, ready to bolt.

A white flash pressed into the clearing. She screamed.

"Margi? What's wrong?"

David straightened up, brushing dry twigs from his button-down Polo. She raised a hand to her throat, trying to catch her breath.

"There was something out there."

He stared at her with a curious grin. "Afraid the Chupacabra's gonna get ya?"

"Shut up. There really was something out there. I heard it."

"Did it come from…that direction?" He gestured behind him.

"Yeah."

"Well, that would have been…me."

"What?"

"I got lost trying to get here. I skirted around this place for a few minutes before I found an opening."

She frowned. His shirt had been white, yes, but what she'd seen was silver. Or had it been a flash of white?

"You okay?" David put his arms around her waist. She smiled, worry about the silver flash and the wolf fading.

"I'm fine. What took you?"

"My parents. They're determined to have me at their silly dinner party next week."

"With Debbie Miller?"

"They didn't say as much, but of course."

"Too bad for Debbie…you're with me."

"Too bad for Debbie," he whispered seductively, bending down to kiss her neck. She reached her arms up and around him, drawing him closer. Her breath came in a thick cloud over his shoulder. He moved up her neck, drawing her into a deep kiss that left her shuddering.

"Poor Debbie…" she whispered, as he slid a strap down her shoulder.

Behind them, the bushes rustled again. He kissed her shoulder as she ran a hand through his hair, down his back to draw his shirt from his jeans.

There was a snuffling sound, followed by a low howl. David drew her to her knees. She let him pull at her other strap, tossing a dazed glance over her shoulder, letting the heat of his body draw her in.

Two pinpricks of red were piercing the darkness, staring at her. An overpowering odor rode down on the wind, causing her to catch her breath.

She froze, stiffening in David's arms. He stopped kissing her, his breath coming in hot waves. "What _is _that?"

She shivered, unable to speak.

"Margi?" The glazed look faded from his eyes. "Margi? What's wrong?"

Her eyes widened as the pinpricks shot from the bushes, charging towards them, a huge black mass of fur and teeth. As the creature opened its mouth, snarling, she fell forward into David, clawing to her feet.

He turned just in time to see the glittering fangs jawing towards them, huge feet outstretched, pinning them to the ground.

She screamed.

At the far side of the canyon, birds fluttered upwards, screeching out of the shallow brush. No one saw them fly out of the park, circling the empty clearing, by the river.

No one heard a thing.


	2. Chupacabra

"_Shapeshift…hair stands on the back of my neck. Shape shift, the wildness is the preservation of the world! So seek the wolf in thyself!"_

Dean beat his fingers on the steering wheel, mouthing in time to the music. His head danced along with Metallica's 'Of Wolf and Man'.

For the fifteenth time.

"Seriously…this is the last time."

"Come on, Sammy! You can't beat Metallica on a flat, boring road." He drummed along with the final verse. "_Of Wolf…and Man!"_

And moved for the reverse button.

"Dude! Seriously!" Sam slapped his hand away from the controls. "Give it a rest!"

"You're a killjoy. That last ghost still got your panties in a twist?"

"No—unless it listens to a lot of Metallica."

Dean made a face. "So…what. You want to listen to some whiny emo music? Would that fit your mood?"

"Anything without screaming would be nice."

"Metallica doesn't scream," Dean muttered, fishing through his collection. "Into the Future" by _The Steve Miller Band_ flooded through the Impala a few minutes later.

"Satisfied there, Granny Stevens?"

"Shut up."

They drove in silence for a little while, Sam staring out the window at the grayish afternoon. They'd been driving through the plains for a while, finished with a particularly nasty poltergeist in Kansas City. Dean though it would be a good idea to drive back to Ellen's Roadhouse, to relax for a day before digging up another job. Sam hadn't argued with him. He could use the rest. And the shelter.

He and Dean had moved from job to job, rarely stopping, letting the business of hunting overshadow any thoughts they might have had on the more pressing problem of 'the demon'.

His brother was looking ahead, staring serenely at the road, though his fingers still tapped lightly in time to the music. Dean had made no mention of the demon, their father, or the promise he'd made to him. Nothing about the one thing driving them from hunt to hunt. Sam knew he wouldn't, until he was forced.

Dean had to keep that promise. He had to.

Sam's phone buzzed and he fumbled for it, scanning the screen before answering. "Hey Ellen."

Ellen's thick accent whispered hello, but wasted no time getting right down to business. "Where are you boys at?"

"Uh, working through Oklahoma, at the moment. Anybody been asking for us?"

"Sam, you're wanted. _Everybody's_ asking for you."

"Great."

"Relax, son, no one's said anything. But I have heard some gossip from the hunters about that murder up near Minnesota, and…well, let's just say you might want to steer clear for a while."

Sam made a face. "Thanks for the warning."

"It's just a fact of life, Sam. Whatever happened, it don't mean much to the people who weren't there—who lost a friend."

"I know that," Sam said softly.

Dean rolled his eyes, tossing Sam an impatient look.

"You got something for us, Ellen?"

"Actually, I do. You ever heard of a town called Campeon, Texas?"

"Campeon?" He glanced at Dean, who shrugged. "Yeah, I've heard of it." Dean's expression changed to puzzlement. "Why?"

"There's a job there, if you're interested."

"A job," he glanced at Dean.

Dean made a gesture with his hands. _If you want to…_

"What's going on?"

"Five people have died in a canyon outside Campeon in the last two months. Most recent attack happened two days ago. Reports say the bodies were found completely drained of blood."

"Vampires?"

"No, this is too violent for them. Hunters I've talked to think it's some kind of creature. Here's the kicker—Campeon is rumored to have a Chupacabra running about."

"A Chupacabra. As in a bloodsucker?"

"Exactly."

He glanced at his brother. Dean nodded assent.

"Thanks Ellen, we're on it," Sam clicked off the phone.

"Chupacabra? Is it killing people?" His brother looked puzzled as Sam nodded. "Aren't those supposed to be not human eaters?"

"Supposedly."

"And this is in…where? Champion?"

"Campeon. Texas. It's a little town in the South. Near San Antonio."

"And you know it because…"

"I have a friend who lives there."

"In South Texas."

"It's her hometown."

"_Her_? As in she?"

"As in TA."

"T&A is good."

"TA, not T&A. As in teaching assistant. As in English. At Stanford."

Dean frowned. "As in…nerd."

"She's not a nerd," laughed Sam incredulously. "She happens to be pretty damn good in English, and you might find her interesting."

"A book geek. I highly doubt it, Sam. Shakespeare and Faulkner and all that crap? I don't think so."

"How about Poe, then?"

"Poe? Like 'The Raven' psycho beating hearts and creepy brother-and-sister-stuff Poe?"

"Yeah. Her specialty was folklore—and the supernatural."

Dean was suddenly wary. "And how much does this Poe-loving folklore expert know about you?"

"Relax. I didn't tell her anything. But considering how much she knows, if there's anyone who would know about strange creatures in Campeon, it's her."

* * *

Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel, glancing periodically at Sam, who sat slumped in the passenger seat.

They'd cruised for what seemed like miles in the little old town, keeping alert for Los Cruces Avenue, where this 'friend of Sam' was supposed to be living.

Sam had called her almost as soon as they'd taken the job. She'd sounded excited to see him, saying a few things that had made his brother grin widely. After a few directions on how to get to Campeon, and her house, he'd hung up, but the smile lingered for a few minutes.

Dean hadn't said anything about that.

Twelve hours later they'd rolled into the small town, which was nearly ninety minutes from anything urban. Oil fields, cattle farms and dry scrub littered the area, which had a decidedly old west feel, but also the sense of something ancient and timeless. It made him feel uncomfortable, like he was walking into a trap.

"Well, this is certainly charming." Dean said impatiently, as yet another block of old brick buildings tolled by. "I can see why the housing developers are screaming to get down here."

Sam ignored him. He turned back to the road, scanning through the old town blindly. He'd seen a lot of run down areas, but this little 'city' looked and felt empty. They'd passed maybe one grocery store, a few boutiques and an older cinema, and lots of tiny, crumbled houses very much in need of a Home Depot.

"There," said Sam, sitting up. "Turn there."

Los Cruces ambled into view. Dean put his blinker on, letting the Impala make a slow bank onto the ancient asphalt road. It seemed to fit, anyway. Somehow, the car didn't stand out here, like it did in so many other cities.

A line of houses, small and elderly, dotted the straight street, sitting on parcels of land most suburban developers would be envious of.

"Seven Thirty-five," Sam said, holding up the piece of paper he'd jotted the information down on. "A small white house."

Dean glanced as white house after white house rolled by. "Well, that's…helpful."

"Seven Twenty-Nine, Seven Thirty Three—Seven Thirty Five—there."

He frowned as a gravel driveway circled to the backside of the house, a gnarled old oak tree stuck on a small hill to the side of it. The drive had chalk as the base, with large granite stones filling in the path. It would be hell on the undercarriage.

"I'm not driving up that."

"Fine, park it in front of the sidewalk." Sam said impatiently, motioning to the thick concrete steps which tramped down from the porch to the road. A small metal mailbox—the kind you find on routes rather than streets—was stuck haphazardly next to it.

The screen door at the front of the house swung open as Dean backed the car along the curb; a fit young woman with dark hair, dressed in jeans and a comfortable t-shirt, strolled out onto the porch.

At first glance, she was exotic, all dark eyes and a strong face, like he'd seen on many Hispanic women. A pleasant smile graced pretty, full lips. She was cute. In a brainy sort of way.

Sam grinned, circling around the back of the Impala and bounding up the front steps as she came down to meet him. "How are ya, Angie?"

"I'm fine," she said, wrapping him in a quick hug. "How are you?"

Dean watched them from the Impala as they chatted, arms crossed. Sam's reaction was all comfort and ease. The cheery grin had returned, giving his face a brightness it hadn't had in a while. But it wasn't awkward—there was no tension, nothing romantic in the embrace, nothing that indicated a past.

Standard Sam. Very boring.

"This is my brother Dean. Dean, this is Angela Barrientes, an old friend of mine."

"Hi, Dean," she said. Her smile was honest, and friendly. He smiled half-heartedly back. Honest and friendly did nothing for him.

Sam turned to walk into the house, and Dean hoisted himself from the Impala, turning lazily to check the lock. _Who knows what they'll take in this neighborhood…_

When he turned back, they were waiting on him. Angela had stuck her hands in her pockets, her dark eyes focused on him. That comfortable, easy feeling he'd just had slithered away into something unsettling. She wasn't staring at him. She was staring towards him, all right, but not _at _him. She was staring _through _him.

At the car.

Her dark eyes darted around quickly, taking in everything, from the frame to the wheel walls to the scratches on the trunk. To someone not looking for it—or trained to look for it—it was almost unnoticeable. Sam wasn't even paying attention. Her gaze flicked back up to him, catching his eye, but she made no indication she'd be doing anything other than waiting.

He frowned, raising an eyebrow. She casually looked away, turning back to Sam with a smile. Given her friendly, unimpressive manner beforehand, the casual brush-off bothered him.

She continued to chat away with Sam, acting like she'd not just been caught scouting him. He frowned. _Did I just imagine that? Maybe I've been on edge too long. _That's what Sam would tell him.

Still, something about it nagged at him. Something his father had taught him, a long time ago, when he'd first been put into training.

_What was it?_

"Dean."

"Mmm?"

"Anytime, dude," Sam said with a hint of amusement.

"Do you want to come inside?" Angela had a tinge of an accent to her English. She'd turned, nodding towards her home. "Sam says you have some things to ask me, but it's a bit chilly out here for my taste."

Dean nodded. His eyes narrowed slightly as Angela glanced past him once more, taking in the duffle bag tossed in the backseat.

_She did it again! What the hell!?_

If he wasn't mistaken, her eyebrow twitched, just a little, at the shape of the pistol that just barely showed through. He remembered what his father had said.

_Never trust a pair of eyes that take a second look. They can see right through you, and chances are, they already have._

* * *

"Chupacabra?" Angela said, over coffee and some tortillas. Every time he went to South Texas someone had homemade tortillas. "Why do you want to know about Chupacabras?"

"Research," said Sam quickly.

Angela raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were out of Stanford."

"Family business," Dean said quickly, still uncomfortable. All his senses told him she was behaving normally, if carefully. Maybe he _had_ been imagining the scene earlier. "Our father was a researcher."

Sam's eyes widened, and he made a face.

"Didn't Sam ever tell you that?" he said.

"No," she said. "But then, Sam didn't say much about his family."

Dean tried not to let the relief show. "Well, my Dad and I were…independent researchers…about things. Mostly…"

"Supernatural stuff," finished Sam. Dean glared at him. _Why the hell would he tell her that?_

To his surprise, Angela just nodded. "Of course. Your fascination with folklore and legends. Runs in the family, I should have known."

"Fascination, huh?"

"Sam took two of our classes in the English department on Folklore and Legends related to the supernatural."

"If I remember correctly, it was you who recruited me for those classes."

"Yeah, well, you had potential."

Sam grinned widely. "In other words, I was an easy target."

"He was one of the best students," Angela said, turning to Dean. "He knew _everything. _It was a bit surprising, in fact, how much he knew."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Sam's a book nerd like that. Anyway, he joined up after…" he glanced at Sam. "He joined up on the project about a year ago."

She nodded. "So suddenly you're a folklorist. Welcome to the club."

"Yeah," Sam said noncommittally. "Anyway, one of the reasons we came down here was because of what's happened in the past few weeks. The deaths, in the wilderness. Do you know if they're at all connected to the legend of the Chupacabra that's supposedly around here?"

"What, are you writing a book on it or something?"

"Not…really."

"Dad was more interested in the real world impact," Dean said. "You know, whether the legend has a physical basis. We're approaching it from that angle."

"So, what you're saying is, you're ghost chasers?"

Sam nodded, giving her a half-smile. "I guess you could say that."

She quirked her lips. "Interesting. Somehow I never saw you as that. You seemed so much more…stable."

"Tell me about it," he said softly.

"Anyways, about your canyon Chupacabra?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Well, some locals describe the beast that's out in the canyon as being a Chupacabra, but those who claim to have seen it describe it as being larger, and with a more wolf-like appearance than most of the legends state."

"And it's killing people, not goats."

Angela grinned. "That too." She moved to a drawer, pulling out some wrinkled newspapers. "I've been tracking it out of interest."

Sam took the papers from her, scouring them for anything that might prove to be a clue. "Whatever it is killed two people a few days ago, right?"

"Yes. Margarita Valdez and her boyfriend, David Parker." Her Spanish accent thickened for a moment over the girl's name. "But they were out near the Lake Samuel State park, where there is much more foliage. Woods. Places for creatures like coyotes, or javelina, maybe even some of those 'saved' wolves and cougars—to hide."

"Javelina?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

"A bit like a wild boar, but…"

"Smaller, I know," he replied, taking the paper out of Sam's hand. "Aggressive, too, but don't you think that's a pretty poor candidate for attacking two people and 'draining the corpses of blood?'"

"Yes," she said smartly. "But you have to consider every option. And that means keeping an eye out for _all _possibilities, not just some. Javelina are vicious creatures, and though they wouldn't attack something as large as a human, if they downed it, they could tear enough of a wound for significant blood loss."

Sam gave Dean a smartass grin. She was intelligent, at least. And thorough.

"Alright then," he said, humoring Sam for a moment. "What do you really think it is, if you don't think it's a Chupacabra?"

She grinned at him. "Whoever said it wasn't?"


	3. Shapeshift?

Sam stifled a laugh as Dean nearly dropped his cup, hot coffee splashing on his jeans and to the tile floor. He knew Dean would be curious about Angie from the moment he saw her, and like every girl Sam had known, would be wondering about their history.

He had another thing coming if he thought he could pass her off with indifference and a smile.

The only things Angie had on him were a few "B"s on shoddy papers and some missed study sessions. She'd been interested in his take on things, and even after his classes, she'd kept in touch, talking folklore and legend with he and Jessica at the local coffee houses once or twice a month. She'd been someone he felt comfortable with—someone who understood a little part of him, even as he was trying to forget that life.

He'd seen her tangle with some of the best minds at Stanford and send them away slumped down and tongue-tied. Experts in the field, testing her faith and her understanding. Experts who usually left questioning their own beliefs. No matter what tactic they used, they could never beat her.

Dean, for all his sarcasm, wouldn't stand a chance.

"Why…why would you say it was a Chupacabra? Didn't you just…"

"I said it was unlikely the attacks were by a Chupacabra. I never said I didn't believe in the Chupacabra itself," she said, grabbing some towels to mop up the floor. Dean watched her with a slightly anxious expression. He'd been on edge since they came in the house, though Sam couldn't quite understand why. Angie was a little intimidating with her demeanor, but she wasn't threatening.

"The Chupacabra might be folklore, and for most people it's nothing more than a tall tale. But as I'm sure you well know, almost every supernatural legend has a basis in something, whether it be reality or some embellishment of reality. Until it's ruled out completely, there has to be some consideration given to it."

"Really."

"Sure. I might not be a researcher like you guys, but I've seen more than my share of unexplainable events. Just because I study the _stories_ doesn't mean I'm not interested in the possibility of their being real. I mean, if you work with this stuff your whole life, it's rather difficult not to. You should know that better than anyone else." She looked up at him, catching his gaze for a moment.

He laughed nervously, then ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, right. Anyways, so—about this supposed Chupacabra…ever been any witnesses? Firsthand accounts, anything like that?"

Sam watched, puzzled, as she raised an eyebrow at him. Dean seemed to gather himself, then gave her a wide-eyed, innocent grin. She swiped up the last of the coffee, sighing. Angela seemed to have his brother pretty well read already, though Dean really _was_ acting a little strange.

"Nobody's seen it—at least not enough of it to provide verifiable proof. No pictures, no photographs. Though there have been some documented cases of cattle and other animals drained of blood. And goats do go missing periodically throughout the year. But it could just be the townsfolk and farmers playing up the legend. They're pretty proud of it."

The screen door from the front of the house banged shut, and Angela stood up, craning towards the living room at the front of the small house. "_Ya_ _llegas_?"

"_Si. Quien esta_?"

"_Amigos_."

A tall, older-looking teenager strode into the kitchen, his forehead dotted with perspiration. He looked a bit like Angela, the same dark hair and eyes, but had a thin face, and a much darker complexion. His eyes had a strange tilt to them.

"My brother," Angela said, tossing the towel in the sink. "Robert. Roberto, Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Hi," he replied, filling up a glass with water from the fridge. "Welcome."

Sam grinned at him and tossed up a hand. Dean nodded.

"How are you feeling?" Angela asked.

"Okay." He looked sickly. He swallowed the water in a few quick gulps. "Angie, I have some work I have to do. I'll be in my room if you need me. Nice to meet you."

The boys nodded again, and he moved a few paces across the hall, down to one of the small bedrooms.

"Is he alright?" Sam asked.

"Yes. He doesn't feel well. It's one of those days."

_One of those days…sounds like a regular problem…_

"So…Chupacabra." She motioned to the paper again as she wiped her hands. "Like I said before, the recent murders have a little connection to the legend—being in the canyon, with parts of the crimes unexplained, but this evidence points away from it being a Chupacabra, at least on the basis of the folklore. And you're right; a javelina is an improbable choice. But the attacks are too severe and close together for it _not _to be an animal of some kind. My guess isn't far off from what the authorities are speculating—that it's a rabid animal from the canyon area—coyote, maybe, or perhaps even a wolf."

"A common creature—that sucks blood from its victims?"

"Where did you hear it sucked blood from the victims?"

Dean cleared his throat. "We have sources—that pointed us in that direction."

She raised an eyebrow again. "Well—your sources need to check their facts. The documented accounts mention blood loss, not 'blood sucking'. There's a difference. Blood loss means the blood is there, just not in the corpse. We haven't been given many details about it—stuff like the extent of the blood loss, or how long the bodies had been exposed to the elements. Just that a significant amount of blood _was _lost."

"And you're sure it wasn't drained out of the bodies?" asked Sam.

"I'm not _sure_," she said. "I can't be _sure_, because I don't have access to the reports or the crime scene. But considering I haven't heard anything out of the ordinary—and believe it or not, people _do _call me about stuff when it's out of the ordinary—I'm suspecting it's a pretty random case of an animal attack."

"A random _five_ cases of animal attack?"

She shook her head. "Like I said, I'm not privy to the information."

"Well, anyway…sounds worth checking out, eh, Sammy? For 'research' purposes."

Sam turned to him slowly. "Right. Research purposes."

"If you're interested in checking it out, I'd say go right ahead. There's enough merit and unusual circumstances to warrant a look-see. I'd have gone a while ago if I wasn't afraid of running into something I couldn't handle. But…" she glanced at them. "I wouldn't go at night if I were you."

"Why not?" Dean raised an eyebrow, grinning. "That makes it more fun."

"You won't think so when some rabid animals charges at you from behind. Unless you're pretty handy with a rifle, I'd say you should check out the lake during the day—and wait for the authorities to investigate a little more."

His smile faded. "Actually, we…"

"I think Angie's right," Sam interrupted. "Why don't we find out more about the deaths in the area? And the Chupacabra legend around here? Maybe if we know more about it, we can figure out when it would be best to do a little more exploring." He tossed Dean a glare. His brother was going to give them away just to prove Angie wrong. Dean made a face, but sat back, nursing what was left of his coffee.

"Well, there are two libraries in town—one at the community college, the other on the far side of Campeon. They might be able to help. Both have all the recent newspapers on file, and the community college has a bunch of books on local legends as well—though I can fill you in on the Chupacabra, at least from what I know."

"That'd be great—"

"No thanks—" Dean muttered at the same time.

She glanced between them. Dean gave her another false grin, and tossed an annoyed glance at Sam. Sam glared back at him, and shook his head. "We'd love you to help, Angie."

"All right. You want to go now?"

He nodded.

"I'll get my coat." She glanced between them again. "I'll be just a minute."

She disappeared into a small back room. Dean leaned forward. "What are you doing?"

"She can help us. You have no idea what we're looking for. She knows the area, and the local folklore."

"Exactly! How long do you think it's going to take her to figure out we're not research experts?"

"Speak for yourself," he hissed back. "Besides, between what Dad taught you and what you've found out, you know enough to pass any test Angie might throw at you. It's not like we're _not_ in this business."

"Yeah, well…I don't know, Sam. I know you want to hang out with her because you haven't seen her in a while, but it seems to me she's too involved."

"Too involved? Dean, you don't know what it is we're hunting. She just might. Of course I'd want to get her involved."

"And what…you're going to stick a rifle in her hand and have her be our tour guide through that canyon? We haven't been here ten minutes and already she's shuttling us around, offering to help with the investigation. This thing could be dangerous—you really want her to be getting in the way—or worse, getting hurt?"

"I won't let her get hurt."

"Look, this isn't a good idea. We got what we needed—let's ditch her and figure this out on our own. You can come back and visit—preferably when I'm _not _around."

Sam leaned back. "What is it with you? You've been on edge ever since you met her. Don't tell me she's intimidating you."

"No," Dean said quickly. "We just… there's too much at stake with us already. I know she's your friend, but how well do you know her? I mean _really _know her?"

"I know her enough." He sighed. "Look, we'll use her to investigate, dig up some clues as to the legend and the murders, and then find the thing on our own. There's no reason she has to _know_ that the supernatural really exists. Or that we're…"

Angela swung open the door, jacket in had. "You ready?"

Dean gave Sam a pointed look. "Sure."

* * *

They bundled into her old model Ford truck, which trundled easily down the gravel drive and into the street. After a few minutes they were bouncing down the rough roads of Campeon, driving past old model storefronts and a few meager traffic lights.

"Hasn't lost much of its old school charm, has it?" she said with a grin. Dean glanced over at an overgrown lot, the building in the middle worn down and ancient.

"No, not at all."

"Well, you can't save 'em all. My family's lived here for generations, otherwise we'd probably be living the high life in Corpus or San Antonio. As it is, we can't bear to leave."

"Who would?"

She tossed him a look, her wrist leaning over the steering wheel. "Who fixed up your Impala?"

"I did," Dean said.

"You did a good job."

"You know cars, too?"

"A little. I have a '66 Mustang in the shed out back I'd really like to work on. My brother knows a ton about cars, he works in a mechanic's shop."  
"He's not going to school?" asked Sam, surprised. Considering Angie's education, he would have thought the younger brother would have gone on past high school.

"Can't." She banked onto a long drive, leading up to a rather bland set of brick buildings. "The shop gives him options as far as his health goes."

"Not everyone needs college," said Dean. "It's overrated."

"Well, my brain and quite a few thousand dollars will forever disagree with you on that," she said. "But, no, it's not for everyone. Roberto likes what he's doing, just like I do. That's all that matters."

"Right."

She pulled into a parking space. "The college library is here. I'm going to talk to a friend a few buildings down, but I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Thanks, Angie."

She marched off towards buildings on the far side of the lot. Dean watched her go, a bland expression on his face. Sam ignored him and walked towards the nearest building, the Campeon Community College library.

Inside they found a mountain of newspaper clippings, and a few books here and there about the local legends. One of them was written by Angela Barrientes.

"Go figure," Dean said, holding up the thin volume. "'_Local Legends of Southern Texas: a Visitor's Guide.' _Looks like she's putting that folklore degree to good use. Real page turner."

"You'd read it," Sam retorted. He held up a newspaper clipping he'd found. "Look at this—these strange deaths have been happening on and off for decades. There were actually seven this year, not five—they found the body of a hiker in that park area almost nine months ago." He lifted up another. "And a boy scout got lost in those woods nearly two months ago. Both suffering significant blood loss."

"And no one thought this was strange?"

"It was reported that the hiker was left out in the elements for a while before he was found. They attributed blood loss to decomposition. The boy had scratches all over his body and teeth marks, so they figured the animals had gotten to him."

"What about the other ones—the ones from the past?"

"As far back as the papers go, there have been a few here and there who died in the canyon. A couple died in town. Almost all of them have mention of blood loss. It's weird, whatever is going on."

"Well, maybe this can help us," said Dean, flipping through Angie's book. "She mentions the Chupacabra…here. 'The Chupacabra, or 'goat eater' as it's known'…blah, blah, blah, 'originated possibly in Puerto Rico', blah blah…here we go. 'The Chupacabra has been rumored to inhabit regions around the towns of Monroe and Campeon, in the woods near the Lake Samuel and Llano canyon area. Though no one has made an official sighting of this supernatural creature, the surrounding area farmers have offered rather convincing proof that this strange beast may be living nearby. Many animals have been found dead, drained of blood and with fang marks—both signs of the Chupacabra's presence. Though the Chupacabra is most commonly associated with goats, it has been known in Mexican legend to attack other kinds of livestock and wild creatures, though it has never been rumored to attack humans.'"

"Okay, well, that explains the legend—but not the attacks on humans."

"Well, maybe she's covering for it."

"Covering for what…the _Chupacabra_?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Are you joking?"

"No, I'm serious. Look…we ain't exactly in Vegas, here. What if some of this town's revenue is built off of tourism? Local legends are enough to drag in a few visitors every year. But not if they think they're going to be in danger. So she writes about the creature to attract interest, but throws people off the fact that it might be a bloodsucking, murdering creature."

"So…what—the townspeople are covering up that people are dying at the hands of a mysterious beast? So they can keep people 'touring'—around _here_?"

"It's possible."

"Dean, anything's possible. But that doesn't mean it isn't stupid, and that's about the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Find anything?" Angie came up behind them, a smile on her face. "Interesting reading?" She nodded at the book Dean had half-open.

He shut it. "Local superstitions. 'S been a big help."

"Good. Well, I have a little more aid to give," she held up a pair of passes. "From Fish and Wildlife. It'll allow you access to the canyon during park hours."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Angie. How'd you swing these?"

"I work at the college part time. One of my friends in the Science Department works for the Park Service."

Sam tossed Dean a pleased glance. "That's great."

"How are you doing here? Need any help?"

"Not really. I think we've got it under control."

"Did you find anything you can use?"

"Some."

"Lots of conflicting things, actually," Sam said, glaring at his brother. _He'll never change. _"But nothing definitive about the legends or what might be going on at that canyon. I think those park passes might come in handy."

"Yeah. Maybe we'll find you some good stuff for your next book," said Dean snidely. "You know, how your local beast is actually a blood-sucking, human-killing menace."

"I think I'll pass," she returned, with a semi-sweet grin. "Something tells me I'd be better off doing the research myself. Less beasts to work with."

Dean's grin faded.

"No offense to you, Sam," she said, taking her book from Dean's hands. "I'll just put this back."

Sam gave her a wide smile. "None taken."

Dean rose from the table, watching her with narrowed eyes as she replaced the book on its shelf in the front. "Are we done here?"

* * *

Angie drove them out to a local 'Taqueria' for dinner, then back to her house, where they picked up the Impala after saying goodbye.

To Sam's surprise, she hadn't offered to allow them to stay with her, though she had recommended a few motels off the highway and away from town. They were a bit of a trek from the canyon area, but they were 'away from authority figures', which made Sam raise a questioning eyebrow.

Dean had no response to that, just continued to look uncomfortable in her presence. He breathed an audible sigh of relief after Angie had given Sam a quick hug and slipped back into her house.

"What's with you? You've been on edge ever since we got here."

"Nothing," Dean said. "It's just…I don't know, Sam. She's too smart."

"I know. It's called 'having a Master's'."

"Not about that stuff. She's smart, yeah, but she's got…I dunno, an instinct about her."

"What?"

"You know…like, a hunter's instinct. In what she says, how she answers questions…stuff like that."

"Dude, you're imagining things."

"Oh yeah? Well then why did she mention motels _away _from 'authority figures.'?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she figures you're a troublemaker. Which isn't far off, by the way. She's definitely got your number."

"She does no…" He stopped for a minute, glancing at Sam over the top of the Impala's roof. "It's because she saw the guns, Sam. She was scouting me today."

Sam sank into the passenger's side after Dean had unlocked it, snorting. "Man…you really don't stop, do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, not every woman in the world is attracted to you. Angela's not like that. She wouldn't be interested in someone like you."

"That's not…what do you mean she wouldn't be interested?"

"Trust me. You're not her type."

"Not her type? What's her type?"

"I dunno…smart? Committed? Decent?"

"I'm…committed."

Sam shrugged. "Whatever man. Look, she wasn't checking you out. Whatever you're seeing, you're making it up."

"No, I'm not. I may not know 'your type' of chick, but one thing I do know is instinct. And _that_ chick has instinct. She's too damn smart to just be a bookworm."

"Dean, people like us do this all our lives. We've been trained. Angie's lived in this little town since she was a girl. When would she have time? She's been taking care of her brother since her parents died. She went to Stanford and got a Master's degree. She teaches at colleges and writes books. When would she have time to learn how to be anything remotely close to a hunter?"

Dean made a face. "I don't know. I don't know her history. But she's got…_something_."

"Maybe she's just really perceptive. Smart people tend to be that way. Maybe she's met people like us before. It would make sense—I'm sure other hunters have come into town look for the Chupacabra that's supposedly here. Just because we're old friends wouldn't give her a reason to discount us as being a bit dangerous."

"Could be," Dean said, after a moment. "I don't know. I think I'll feel better when we get the chance to be out in the brush, looking around."

* * *

They bunked at "Las Palmas" motel, which sat on the outskirts of Campeon, on the way out to Lake Samuel. They stashed most of their stuff, then got back in the car and drove out towards the canyon, almost thirty miles from the center of town.

By the time they reached it the sun was setting. The park gates were closed, though there were plenty of dusty roads to scout down along the outskirts of the wildlife area. They drove along the western side where, according to the local papers, the deaths occurred.

Dean pulled into a grove of scraggly trees. There wasn't much cover on the lake's southern and eastern sides—at least not what Dean would call cover, though the local Texans might say so—near the dam, but to the west and north, where the river fed into the lake, the area was wild, overgrown and much more closely resembled a wooded riverbed. A small, rolling mesa overshadowed the far side of the river, tall enough to give Llano canyon its name.

They parked deep within the brush, and pulled out a couple of rifles, a sawed off shotgun and a pistol from the Impala's trunk.

"According to the legends, Chupacabra aren't immune to anything, so regular rounds should work," said Sam, loading a magazine into one of the rifles. "They also don't grow to be too tall, so we should be on the lookout for something about three feet or so in length."

"Well, I'd keep my eye out for anything. This thing has killed five people in the past two months, so who knows what the hell we're dealing with. If it's gotten bigger than we think, or turned into a murdering creature—maybe even rabies, like your friend said, then we've got to be prepared. Now where was the dead girl found?"

"According to the papers, she was found in a clearing away from the lake, on the western side. Her boyfriend was found almost a half a mile away to the north, closer to the mesa and the river."

"Looks like we're hiking," said Dean, shouldering his rifle with a grin.

* * *

They pushed their way through the dense scrub brush, careful to keep a lookout for the winding trails Dean called 'hog runs'.

"How do you know so much about those pig things, anyway?" Sam asked as they skirted around another supposedly path. "When did you become the expert on java-whatever-they're-called?"

"I dunno; it's something Dad taught me. He used to talk about all kinds of things you could hunt. He said something about javelina being vicious, and I got curious."

"Dad talked to you about pig hunting?"

"We did have more to talk about than just demons and ghosts, Sam," Dean said. "It wasn't folklore and evil spirits 24-7."

Sam thought for a moment. As far back as he could remember, that's _all _his father had talked about. His brother had had so much more time with their father than Sam had realized.

"Check that out," Dean said, motioning ahead. Yellow tape was fluttering in the breeze. "Looks like we found it."

They entered the clearing, scouting around the edges before focusing on the center, where the body had been found. A stain still glazed the earth, darkening the clay with a faintly red-brown tint.

"Jeez…whatever it is, it's vicious. Look at the blood pool." Dean crouched down, touching the edge of the stain with his fingertips. "I don't know Sam. Your friend was right, partly. Chupacabra, according to legend, are blood _suckers. _They wouldn't leave this much of a mess behind."

"Then what are we looking at?"

His brother frowned. "Hell, I don't know. It could be anything. But if it attacks like a creature, maybe it's got 'creature' in it."

"What are you thinking?"

Dean shrugged. "Skinwalker, shapeshifter—demon even…who knows?"

"Well, a shapeshifter would fit the profile, at least as far as the violence goes. But why now? What would have caused it to come out and attack so quickly in succession?"

"Maybe it just moved into town. Maybe it's testing out the waters."

"I think we need to investigate a little more. This whole thing has a weird vibe to it. It doesn't make much sense."

"Well…the boyfriend was killed up closer to the river, right? Lets us just have a 'look-see'. That might tell us a little more about what we're dealing with."

"If it is something else, shouldn't we be better prepared?"

"Sam, I'm insulted. Apparently, you underestimate me," his brother fished into his jacket, producing a few rounds of silver. "Better safe than sorry. That's my motto."

"I thought your motto was 'if at first you don't succeed…'."

"Naw, that's only in bars. Which I've never had to use, by the way."

"Please."

They marched through the brush, which was significantly thicker and fuller as they neared the river itself area. They found the tape markers for the boy's body just before they ran into the river, almost a complete half-mile from the first clearing.

The stains here were more violent, like something had grabbed the body and shaken it across the wood. Blood spatter dotted the trees and the far outskirts of the area, all the way down to the riverbank. There were larger pools leading towards the north, where it appeared parts of the corpse had been ripped off. They were marked with red tags.

"It must have killed the girl, and taken the boyfriend for food. Looks like the trail leads back up into that thicker patch of woods, near where the river feeds in."

"Yeah…but what's large enough to have done this? I mean, it looks like it just ripped the body in half."

"You remember that wendigo we fought in the north woods? It was pretty damn strong. And demons aren't exactly limited in strength."

"Yeah, but they're also _cunning_. Leaving all this behind, but without a discernable trail…the thing is smart, but it's not devious. It's acting like an animal—a very _big, _very intelligent animal."

"Well, whatever it is, it's gone deeper inside. Through there," he pointed towards an overshadowed path that disappeared alongside the riverbank, curving towards the mesa.

Sam glanced warily down the path. The river wound up it, lined with impossibly thick brush and trees —and certainly much more impassable than the relatively flat and open areas that made up the majority of the landscape around the lake. "We won't be able to see a thing down there. I say we take Angie's advice and come back in the morning."

Dean rolled his eyes. "'Angie' again. Are you going to let that girl lead you around like some puppy on a leash?"

"No, I'm going to let a friend of mine who happens to know the area, the legends and the local findings give me some good advice, which I'm inclined, at the moment, to take. These aren't going to cut it in there, Dean," he waggled his mini-mag light in his brother's face. "And even you have to admit walking into a place like that blind is a _bad_ idea."

Dean frowned for a minute. "Alright, fine. You win. We come back in _la_ _manana_. But I don't want you wussing out on me because your friend tells you more scary stories about this place. You want to stay at her place and flip tortillas while she tells you bedtime stories you're more than welcome. But I'm back here, tomorrow, taking care of whatever this thing is."

"Fine. I'll save some tortillas for you."

"Very funny."

A wind blew behind them, shuffling through the dry brush and floating in from the wooded area. Sam wrinkled his nose as it blew past them, carrying a foul, thick odor on the air. "What is that?"

"I dunno, man." Dean made a face, lifting his sleeve to his nose. "I'm guessing the other half of the boyfriend."

The wind picked up, blowing with a low howl through the canyon. The odor increased.

"Yeah, I'm done," muttered Dean through his shirtsleeve. "You're right, let's get out of here." They started down the path through the scrub, retracing their steps back to the empty clearing. The wind had died down, though the odor pervaded.

Their boots tromped through the brush, crunching tinder and dry leaves. Despite the empty air, the echo continued. Sam turned, puzzled. It sounded almost like a cry. And there was something else missing, too. "Hey, wait a minute…"

"What? You find something?"

"No…but…listen."

Dean cocked his head to the side. Silence.

"No birds," he said finally, his grip on his shotgun tightening. "There's no sound."

The breeze blew through the brush again, bringing a stronger smell of odor and decay. Sam coughed. A guttural _clack-clack_ came from somewhere behind them.

They whirled around, raising their guns. The air was getting thick with the smell.

"What is that?"

A low howl floated through the air, somewhere to the southwest. The clicking stopped. Sam turned to Dean. "That's not the wind, is it."

It came again, this time, closer. Dean's finger edged to the trigger. "No wind I've ever heard. That was a wolf howl."

"That's…what I thought."

"Come on." Dean started forward, towards the howling. Sam grabbed his sleeve. "Are you crazy? You're going to go hunting a wolf?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "And?"

"You can't just go hunting wolves! They're endangered in this area—this is a state park!"

"Uh…as opposed to hunting something supernatural in a state park?"

"That's different. What if you kill it? These things are tracked and traced, there's laws and regulations…you can't just go around shooting wildlife!"

"Sam, I'm wanted in forty-eight states for murder. Something tells me killing an animal isn't going to be high up on the list of offenses."

"Why even bother, then?"

"Because this might be it. What if it's rabid, like 'Angie' said? Or a werewolf?"

"If this was a werewolf we would know about it. Angie would have heard those rumors."

"Yeah, well, Angie doesn't know everything. There's something funky going on here, Sam, and I'm going to find out what it is, starting with _that_." He shook off Sam's arm, and pushed through the scrub, towards the wolf howl. Sam stared at the empty space for a moment, then took a breath, checked his rifle, and trotted after him.

* * *

Dean craned his head, relieved to hear Sam coming up behind him. He didn't really have any intention of shooting a wild wolf, but if it was something supernatural, he needed Sam's backup.

His brother had his 'protest' face on, nostrils flared and eyebrows lowered. Dean pursed his lips. _Next time I agree to visit one of Sam's friends, I gotta give him a freakin' time limit!_

Whenever Sam set his foot down in the 'real world' of what his life once was, he had the very annoying habit of bringing a little of it back to their hunts. In a way he regretted bringing his brother back into this world, but now that he was, by his own admission, a part of it, there were some things he needed to learn to leave behind.

Like rules. And classmates.

The howling came again, this time from the south. The weird clattering noise they'd heard to the north had faded away, whatever had been making it apparently scared off by the wolf. He clicked off his maglite and crouched low to the ground, stalking through the brush, trying to keep as silent as possible. Sam followed his lead, gun in hand and ready to fire. He could hear scrabbling up ahead, like something running through the brush, low to the ground.

_That's gotta be it._

They picked up speed, following the sound of breaking branches. A clear trail was being cut in front of them, lit faintly by the starlight—but just barely, it was so slight and narrow. He thought he could hear panting up ahead.

Sweat beaded across his forehead as he rushed, low and silently, through the scrub. Sam was breathing heavily behind him, trying to keep up. His back felt stiff, and he fought the urge to straighten.

The scrabbling stopped.

Something dark, and shadowy, was coming up in front of them. He lifted his rifle, slowing, trying to make out the shape in front of him. It was almost too big to comprehend from his position on the ground. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make it out in the nearly moonless night. He raised the gun.

Something glinted at him, eye level. Something silver.

His finger brushed the trigger. _What is it?_

"Wait!" his brother hissed, laying a hand on the barrel of his rifle.

Dean turned to him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Sam glanced around, listening for a moment. The panting had disappeared, as had the howling—even the horrible odor was gone. The cicadas were working back into the night air, along with owls and the sounds of birds flying overheard.

Everything had returned to normal.

Sam stood, clicking on his maglite, and shone it forward.

The silver handles of the Impala glinted back at him. Dean rose out of the cover, his mouth dropping open. "Did I just…almost…"

"Shoot your car? Yeah."

"What the hell? What just happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"But…I mean you heard it, right? In front of us? That thing was in front of us."

"Yeah, I heard it. Then I heard that," he gestured upwards, at the night sounds of the wildlife. "Whatever it was, it left. It led us back to the car and left."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Well…we gotta go back. We gotta find it, whatever it was…"

"What? Dean, we're back where we started from. And whatever it is that we just tracked, it sure as hell wasn't a wolf! It was smart enough to lead us back here. I think it's giving us the chance to get out."

"Now you're the one being stupid. Why would a creature that has killed five people in the last two weeks lead us back to our car and give us the chance to leave? It doesn't make sense!"

"No, it doesn't. But whatever's going on, I think it's pretty obvious we're not prepared to handle it yet. We need more information—more time."

Dean grimaced. He'd _really_ wanted to take care of it tonight. Be over, and done with it. _One more day in Campeon. _"Fine. We'll come back tomorrow, like we said."

"Good."

He made one last check around the car before popping open the trunk and tossing their rifles in the underside. They loaded up the rest of their equipment, take a silver bullet-loaded pistol to the front for protection, and climbed into the Impala, Dean starting it up with a loud roar.

They pulled down the dirt road at a comfortable speed, kicking up a little dust in their wake. Moving into the darkness away from the canyon, the Impala's headlights cut bright swaths of yellow through the night.

* * *

Dean stared aimlessly out at the flat dirt road ahead, trying to put together what they'd seen. Something strong enough to rip a grown man in two…something smart enough to figure out how to lead them away. Something that sounded like a wolf, or could at least mimic a wolf…

_Something that smells? And that weird clattering…that could have been a bird, but something doesn't feel right. _

"I don't think it's a demon," said Sam softly.

"No…a demon wouldn't have moved like that…not like that. It wouldn't have bothered leading us away in the first place. And whatever that smell was it wasn't sulfur."

"Mmmm…"

He leaned his head back for a moment, glancing by reflex through the rearview. "We…"

Something flashed in the mirror.

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the reflection. He wove the car slightly to the right. The blur flashed through again.

"We what?" asked Sam. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Sammy," Dean said, keeping his eyes on the rearview. "Grab on to something. _Now._"

"What?"

"Just do it!" As Sam reached for the window handle, he spun the wheel violently, sending the car slinging around in a wild 180. The Impala shuddered, the force of the turn shaking the body violently from side to side, the tires squealing in protest. Sam grunted, grabbing onto the ceiling for support as the force of the turn flung them to the side. "What are you do…"

Dean held the wheel steady, fighting for control. The Impala shuddered to a stop, the beams bobbing in the darkness as the car tried to regain balance.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed next to him.

In the cut of the headlights in front of them, a creature stood. Skinny, about Sam's height, with a horrific, wolf-like face and narrowed eyes. The body was shaped like a distorted animal's, long forelegs bent for running low to the ground, the hind legs twisted at an odd angle and covered with thin, patchy, uneven hair.

It snarled, the terrifying face curling into an evil grimace, baring large, white teeth. Dean reached for the pistol, throwing open the door as the creature let out a low moan, and skittered off into the distance.

He unleashed a few rounds, hearing nothing but the low howl of the thing as it shot across the flat land. Sam started from the car, chasing after it, a large flashlight in hand. Dean ran up next to him, raising the pistol. The dust from their wild spin had barely settled, but the creature had disappeared, out of range of the pistol and far too fast for them to catch.

It was gone.

He glanced over at Sam. "Think you friend could include _that _in her next book?"


	4. Dual

"What the hell what that thing?" Sam asked when they got back inside their room at the motel. They'd not spoken the entire drive back, both trying to comprehend what it was they'd seen.

Dean shook his head, pulling off his leather jacket slowly. "I dunno. I swear I've seen it before. There's something familiar about it."

"It looks like it could be a demon dog from any of the ancient European lore."

"No. This wasn't textbook. It looked kinda," he snapped his fingers. "Kinda like that werewolf in that Harry Potter movie."

"Harry Potter?"

Dean turned to him, wide-eyed. "It was on cable one day. I was bored."

"…O-kay. Well, even though it looked like it, I don't think it could be a werewolf. They don't come out during the new moon."

"What about a skinwalker, then? It could shapeshift into something like that. Fits the profile—attacking people for no reason, disappearing during the day."

"Yeah, but…do you think a skinwalker would be strong enough to do that much damage? I mean, that thing looked strong, but it didn't look _that_ strong. Those people were torn in two."

"Well, whether or not it goes around ripping bodies in half I don't know. What I do know is that I wouldn't want to face what we just saw unarmed."

"That's another thing. If it goes around killing people, why did it lead us back to the car? I mean, it had to be that thing—it was certainly wolfish enough to be what we were tracking—so why did it let us go?"

"Maybe it saw the gun. Didn't want to risk it."

"After it tore that boy into five parts?"

"I don't know. This whole freakin' thing makes no sense."

Sam flopped down on the bed. "We need to look more into the local legends. Find out if there's skinwalker lore in the area." He lifted his head, looking over at Dean, who studied him for a moment, then raised a stern hand.

"No."

"Come on. You know there's no one…"

"I said _no._ We don't need her involved in this."

"What if I just ask? You know…"

"Sam, you start asking about skinwalkers and she's going to suspect there's more to this than our innocent fascination with Chupacabra research. She may already suspect that now. I _don't_ want her involved. Swing by tomorrow, tell her we saw nothing, say goodbye and that's that."

"You're being a real jerk about this, you know?"

"Well…ask that other little friend of yours what happens to people when they get between us and shapeshifters. You want another friend bloodied and almost killed? Leave Angela out of this. It's the best thing for everyone."

* * *

Sam guided the Impala down Los Cruces, pulling up slowly in front of Angela's house. He hadn't bothered to call her before coming, so he hoped she was at home.

He turned off the engine, pocketing the keys in his jacket and bounding up the steps. Dean had elected to 'stay behind' to catch up on sleep, though Sam thought most of that was motivated by the desire not to see Angela.

It was times like these he wished he'd never gotten involved with hunting in the first place. Sure, he was way too involved to abandon it now—and he probably couldn't have avoided it, even if he'd wanted to—but the choices he'd made before their father's disappearance had given him the chance at something Dean had never experienced.

A normal life.

And times like these, when he got to go back and remember some of that life, he really wished his brother would just respect it, instead of constantly reminding him that that life was in the past. People like Angela gave him a little bit of peace in a world that was becoming difficult to handle, and for as much as Dean looked out for him, it was something he would never be able to provide. Security. Normalcy. The idea that some people could live forever inside the bubble of the good, never touched by the supernatural. Never touched by evil. And they could be happy about it.

He rapped on the frame. A voice filtered through from the inside, and Angela opened the front door just a few minutes later, bending over to unlatch the screen door. "Hi Sam! What brings you out here so early?"

"Just thought I'd stop by before we head out to the canyon. To thank you for everything and say goodbye."

"Aww. That's no good. You'll have to come back by tonight after you head out to the park."

"I think Dean's pretty anxious to be on our way. We heard about something like a Chupacabra a couple of counties over, and if this doesn't pan out…" he let himself trail off. Angela was wiping her hands with a dishtowel, staring past him, at the Impala. Through the plastic of the screen door, the car looked blurred.

And incredibly dirty.

She nonchalantly folded up the towel, eyes trailing back to his face. She'd only studied the car for a moment, but there was a world of emotion in them—confusion, coupled with something else. If he didn't know her better, he would say she was almost—disappointed.

Dean's words from yesterday ran through his mind. _She has instinct. _

He smiled widely. "Dean took the car out for a spin last night. Who knows what he did to it."

When she turned back to him, it was with an innocent stare. "It looks like he went mud bogging. What a shame, with that car being so nicely redone."

"Yeah, well, that's Dean."

"Hmm." She walked back to the kitchen, tossing the towel in the sink, and grabbed some dough lying out on the counter, shaping it into little discs. There was coffee in a carafe on the table. "Did you find anything yesterday? After you left?"

"Just the motel. Nice, by the way, thanks."

"Sure. How was the canyon?"

"Dark," he started to say, then stopped uncomfortably. Classic mind trick. She grinned at him.

"You really didn't think you were going to fool me, did you? Your brother wouldn't even pull up my driveway, much less take that thing out for a reckless ride through mud flats. The only way he'd let that car get that dirty is if he had to. So…what did you find?" She dumped the disc onto a hot iron plate on the stove, watching it carefully as it flattened out into a thick tortilla. She flipped it a few times, then placed it in a basket on the table.

He sighed. "Nothing."

"No Chupacabra, no wild creatures…nothing?"

He shook his head. "We scouted around, but we didn't find anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"Angie…"

The door to one of the bedrooms swung open, and Robert ambled out, rubbing his hair. "Hi."

"Hey, man."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I need something to eat." He plopped himself across from Sam, grabbing a cup of coffee and a tortilla from Angela's freshly made stack.

His face was drawn, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked weaker and more sickly than he had the day before.

"How are you feeling?" asked Sam.

"Same. Tired." The young man's strange eyes studied him carefully over the rim of his coffee cup. "You look a little under the weather, too."

Angela pulled a carafe of orange juice from the fridge and set it down in front of him. "Drink some of that. Seems Sam and his brother have a few of your late-night habits. They were out trolling the canyon for scary beasts last night."

"That's not a smart idea, if Angie's legends are correct," Robert said hoarsely. "You could get eaten."

"By the Chupacabra?"

"Maybe. Or something else."

"Roberto, that's enough," said Angie harshly. "Stop acting like a drama king. Sam knows about those kinds of things, he's not someone you can scare with spooky stories."

Robert blinked, then pulled himself up from the chair. "Right. Like you, a _researcher. _Sorry, _chavo_, I'm forgetting they still have those types of people out there. Angie, I'm going out to the garage." He swung open the back door. "See you later, Sam." He winched a little as his left shoulder brushed against the door frame.

Angie had her arms crossed, watching him go. "_Cabron. _He's such a pain. He's sick, and he won't bother to take care of himself. He stays up to all hours of the night, even though I yell at him to go to bed, and he wears himself out like you wouldn't believe."

"What's he got, if you don't mind me asking?"

She glanced at him. "It's a…blood disease. It makes him weak at some points, though at other times you'd never guess there was anything wrong with him."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay…we're used to it by now." She turned back to the tortillas. He tapped his fingers on the table, Roberto's words echoing through his mind. _Or something else…_

_I have to ask her. I don't care what Dean says. She'll know better than anyone, and it'll be worth it to cut this job in half._

"Heya Angie…what did he mean by…something else?"

She craned her head, though she didn't turn back to look at him. "Nothing. He was talking out of his ear."

"But if you've heard something…about…some other kind of creature…"

"What other kind of creature?"

He swallowed. "Shape shifter, maybe?"

She turned around to face him, eyes wide. "Where did you hear that?"

"Is there something here? Any kind of legend about a metamorphing creature?"

"Yes," she said slowly, after a moment. "It's not as prevalent a theory as the Chupacabra—not many people have any kind of conclusive story to go with it—but some believe it may be a human who transforms into a wolf or coyote."

"You mean like a skinwalker?"

"Maybe. But it's just a rumor."

"But…this skinwalker—it could be the thing killing people, couldn't it? I mean, they're certainly more violent towards humans in the lore than Chupacabra."

"If you really believed it was an evil creature that's killed all those people, then yeah, I suppose it would make sense. Though it wouldn't explain why it's suddenly started killing people. The shapeshifter rumor has been around for years, just like the Chupacabra. Why do you ask?" She paused, taking in his expression. "You _did _see something last night, didn't you?"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Angie…"

"You didn't know about the legends of skinwalkers around here—I can guarantee you didn't find anything in those books, not even I've written about it. Must be something to make you curious."

_I've forgotten how frickin' logical she can be. _"We did see something. But honestly, I don't know to say what it was. It could have been a wild animal."

"Tell me."

He sat back. _Dean's gonna kill me. _"I can't really describe it. Dean got a better look. But it appeared to be some kind of a wolf or coyote. Just ugly—distorted. It was chasing us."

She was silent for a moment, thinking. "And this…this wolf thing—you're sure it looked—unnatural? It didn't just appear to have mange—or rabies?"

"It might have had mange, now that I think about it—but…it didn't _look_ likea wolf, it was wolf-like. But that's where it gets weird—why it might be something more than just a wild animal. Because it didn't just follow us, it led us. Out of the canyon. And then it chased our car."

"But it didn't attack you."

"No, that's what's weird. It guided us to our car, then followed us—like it wanted to make sure we left. Dean saw it in the rearview and spun the car to catch it. I think it was surprised, because it stopped tailing us."

"What did it do?"

"It snarled, and took off. Dean got off a couple of shots, but it was gone before he could reload."

"You _shot _at it?" Her eyes were wide.

"Yeah," he stared at her for a moment. "It might have attacked us."

She frowned. "You should have been more careful."

"Don't worry about us. We're capable of taking care of ourselves."

"I'm not…I…" she trailed off. "Never mind."

There was silence between them for a moment. Angie pulled up a seat, whirling it around so she was straddling it. "Sam, really—you ought to be more careful. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. Or you brother. Whatever is out in that canyon, be it rabid wolf or shapeshifter—or even Chupacabra—it's dangerous."

"Angie," he placed a hand over her curled fist. "Whatever is out there, it needs to be found out. Otherwise more people are going to die. I can't explain why, really—but we might be the ones who can find it and stop it."

She bent her head. "You're going back out there tonight, aren't you?"

"We'll scout the canyon out today. Find a way to track whatever we saw last night. And if we have to, we'll go back tonight and get a closer look."

"But tonight's almost a new moon. You won't be able to see anything."

Sam grinned. You don't know my brother. If it's out there, he'll find it."

Angela smiled, though the grin didn't touch her eyes. "I guess not. Hunter at heart, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Mmmm."

He stood. "Don't worry, I promise, we'll be fine—and careful. We may be, uh, researchers, but we're also kinda used to doing things the hard way."

"I see. Well, still, be careful. I still think there are more things to worry about in that canyon area than just your average legendary creature."

"We will. I'll see you tomorrow, Angie. I hope your brother ends up feeling better."

"Thanks. I know he will."

He left her staring behind him, arms crossed.

* * *

Dean pulled into the Lake Samuel State Wildlife Park and Refuge at Llano Canyon later that day, giving the guard a cheery grin as he handed him the two visitors' passes. The older man smiled back. "You boys have a nice day. And no horse playing, the animals can be dangerous in some parts."

"Yessir," said Dean with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes.

They pulled up into the visitor's parking area, opting to avoid the larger parking lot—located next to the park rangers' service—and strolled out into the marked areas of the lake. Lake Samuel was a small, neat expanse formed by damming up the Rio de Vuelto river, on the eastern side of the lake. To the west, not marked as part of the park's recreational grounds, was a great deal of foliage and even wooded areas, with the mesa—which wasn't much of a mesa—rolling up to give the flat lands a slightly hilly look.

Dean walked down to the boat ramp as Sam went into the visitor's center, buying a couple of topographical maps of the area. He met his brother down by the lake, watching as diehard nature lovers ramped kayaks and canoes into the murky water.

He squinted, trying to avoid the glare of the sun off the water's surface. Dean was surveying the area nonchalantly, hands in pockets. They hadn't seen much of the lake since they'd been here—the area where the attacks had occurred was a couple of miles away from it. Around it, the scenery was silent, except for a few water birds calling over it and swooping down to scoop up a fish. The canoers' paddles made soft sloshing sounds as they cut through the water.

"Doesn't seem all that threatening now, does it?"

"Not on this side. I'm surprised the park service hasn't shut down the recreational areas, with all the deaths."

"Apparently since it all happens away from the public grounds, they figure whatever's attacking people won't come all the way out here. Course, they don't know what we do," Dean replied. "Let's hope for their sakes they're right, and our little shapeshifting friend is just too uncomfortable with the low Texas brush to leave the more wooded areas."

"That's not going to help much when the weather warms up. Not many families or even kayakers are going to be taking a day trip to that area right now. No one's going to be paddling that far and run the risk of getting caught in the dark on a cold lake. But when the weather turns, people are going to be heading out there for the scenery, and…"

"Right. Fast food central. We gotta find this thing, now, and get rid of it."

"Yeah."

"What'd the good ol' Park Service provide you with?"

Sam shook a few of the rolled up maps in his hands. "A couple of topographicals, and maps of the inlets and channels by the river. Seems that the area around the river, right before it hits the reservoir, is pretty heavily wooded. Almost like a forest. It's not too obvious, though, because everything else rolls into it. And that mesa—Devil's Hoof—overshadows it."

"Devil's Hoof? That's clever."

"It's because they say the thing looks like the hoof of a beast, but sharper. So…"

They turned, surveying the rise in the distance. It was barely noticeable, but it did resemble a hoof a little.

"Yeah, yeah, everything goes back to the devil in these parts. Has something to do with the heat."

"Yeah, well, you'd never be able to tell that now," said Sam, zipping up his jacket.

"You get cold in this? Remind me never to take you to Montana."

"I've been to Montana. And by the way, you're wearing a leather jacket, a flannel and an undershirt."

"What can I say? I come prepared."

"Well, let's hope so, you're going to need to be tonight."

* * *

They drove around the far side of the lake, following the dry dirt roads until they were heavily in the wildlife and away from the reservoir. It was much easier to scout around in the daytime, though they did have to explain themselves to two different park officials.

"That 'lost nature lovers' bit works every time," Dean commented after they waived off the second ranger, who warned them about the creature attacks.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing we had these," said Sam, gesturing to his binoculars and camera. He turned the camera around to snap a picture of another inlet road, one that wound down deep into the canyon area.

Dean shook his head, saying something under his breath about techno-geeks, but Sam ignored him. The entire day had actually been kind of peaceful—and very informative.

He'd managed to snap photos of every potential way into the river area while they'd driven around. He'd also managed photographs of some of the local wildlife—including javelina. They were unusual in that many of the creatures weren't that skittish, mostly due to the number of tourists who came around during the year.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least during the daytime.

They headed back to Campeon to scout more about skinwalker lore in the library, but Angela had been right about it—there was nothing in the histories. Even in her book, she only made a minor mention of them being related to the indigenous tribes who occupied the land before it was colonized.

Dinner was fast food and a couple of gas station snacks. They stopped by the motel to download his pictures and come up with a game plan, using what they knew of skinwalkers as a guide. When Dean felt comfortable enough with what they'd scouted, they loaded up their gear—which they'd stashed in case the Park service became _too _inquisitive during their tour of Lake Samuel—and headed back to the area just as the sun was setting.

Only a thin sliver of a moon lit the area, making everything seem much darker and more ominous than it had the night before, despite their having known the area.

Dean pulled the Impala into a grove similar to the one he had the night before, only this one was further to the west, making for a quicker exit should it be needed. The dirt roads wound around, making the attack points easy to get to, but also provided a pathway straight to a point on the river that made it capable of being crossed, if they needed to pursue something.

All in all, they were pretty well prepared.

Sam took out a breath, gathering up one of their rifles from the trunk. He slid a pistol into his pocket. "Ready?"

Dean nodded, a half-grin on his face, rifle in hand. "Let's do this."

* * *

The reached the first clearing as night settled on the area. Nothing much had changed; the authorities had finished the majority of their investigation, probably leaving the area marked in case they needed a second survey.

There was nothing really of note, so they pressed on, towards the second spot, where David Parker had died. When they reached it, they scouted around the area, then started down the path, towards the thick brush, where they'd heard the clattering noises before.

Neither the noise, nor the horrible odor, was present. Dean checked his gun just in case, and pressed forward, into the area they'd avoided last night.

They entered the thickly wooded area with maglites shining ahead of them. Even with the high powered beams, the area was much darker than the earlier clearings, which had much less vegetation. It was a little like going into the forests of the north woods, and a very odd contrast to the rest of the state.

Sam pulled his jacket closer around him, keeping his eyes on the shadows moving between the trees. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The sounds of a woodland at night were present, the river lapping calmly against its banks. Some of the lake fowl cried out in the distance.

They reached the river's edge, flicking their flashlights up and down the banks. Still nothing telling, and the river here was a little too wide to cross without swimming. Dean didn't relish the idea, considering alligators and water moccasins made the lake their home.

"We need to go up a little further," he said softly, shining his maglite down the length of the river.

"According to one of the park maps, there's a small man-made bridge that spans the river about a half mile from here," said Sam.

"Let's find it," said Dean. "Whatever this thing is may be making its home in the one of the ridges of that mesa. We need to cross the river to get to it."

They'd trekked about another quarter of a mile when a flock of birds, nesting in the trees ahead of them, launched violently into the air, squawking their displeasure at whatever had disturbed their slumber. Dean heard the click of the rifle as Sam locked his first bullet into place.

A low growl rolled from up ahead of them. The odor they'd smelled the night before spread through the air, and Dean coughed. It was thoroughly unpleasant.

From the southwest, a wolf's howl echoed.

Sam turned, glancing in the direction of the howl. It was away from the river.

The wolf howled again, louder and more direct.

It was drawing closer.

Dean raised his rifle, crooking his flashlight in the cup of his arm. Sam followed suit.

Something clattered in the forest behind them.

Sam whirled around, confused, checking for something coming up from the eastern side. Dean kept his back to his brother's, eyes focused ahead of him.

A twig snapped to the south.

Dean turned, momentarily distracted, as Sam swung his gun to cover both positions.

There was a low growl from the west, and suddenly the wolf-creature was in front of them, bent low to the ground, snarling. Up close, the creature had strange, tilted eyes, and a tannish coloring beneath the patchy fur. It was slightly less human-like than the night before.

It took off like the wind, barely giving Dean time to raise the rifle level and take a shot. Sam tore off in front of him, dashing through the tangled undergrowth, chasing the beast. Dean followed, light bouncing into the dark as they pursued the strange creature.

They came to a wide clearing, where the creature stopped, turning back to snarl at them. Dean didn't wait to get a clear view, just raised the rifle and fired, clicking the next cartridge into place as soon as the first was released. He got off three shots; the creature yelped as it bent down on its shoulder, nicked by one of the bullets. It tore off into the brush. Dean fired a final cartridge before it had completely disappeared into the vegetation.

Sam tailed after him this time, leaping over branches and shoving through the thick scrub that lined the river. They could hear the creature panting in front of them, snapping low bushes and pounding the dirt in a furious attempt to get away. It bent towards the south, using a hog run as a guide way before ducking back into the unmarked brush.

It broke into a clearing and stopped, sides heaving in and out as they emerged on the far side. Dean scrounged into his pocket, grabbing more cartridges as Sam raised his rifle. The wolf-creature watched them, blood dripping from its wounded shoulder.

Sam backed up, trying to get a clear shot as the creature paced around.

"Go on," Dean hissed, fumbling with his gun. "Shoot it!"

The creature growled, backing slowly away into the shadows. Dean watched, incredulous, as Sam simply let it go, refusing to pull the trigger.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Dean shoved the cartridges into the rifle and locked them into place. By the time he'd raised it, the creature had disappeared. "DAMMIT!" Dean yelled, whirling around. "What the hell happened? Why didn't you—"

He froze.

Sam still hadn't moved, but his face was taut, his eyes wide. He moved slowly forward.

"Put it down, Sam" said a soft, authoritative voice. "Now."

Sam swallowed, lowering his rifle slowly. A small hand reached out to grab it from him, tossing it aside, out of reach.

From the shadows, Angela Barrientes emerged, partially hidden behind his lanky form. She was holding something in her hand, against Sam's back.

"Dean," Sam said in a half-whisper.

"Shut up," Angela said. She gestured to Dean from the shadows. "Put your gun down."

Dean didn't move. He met her stare deliberately, and she stared back with that forcefulness he'd sensed in her before. Her dark eyes seemed almost black in the scant moonlight.

"Put your gun down, Dean" she repeated, nudging Sam, who flinched.

"Why are you protecting that creature?" Dean asked, gripping the rifle. The situation was spiraling out of control—quickly. "Why are you stopping us?"

"Put down your gun. NOW."

"Why are you protecting it?"

"I SAID NOW!" she yelled. Sam was suddenly down on his knees, his arm bent backwards behind him.

She had a pistol in her hand. It was pointed at his head.

"Put your gun down, Dean. I don't want to have to hurt anybody, but if I have to, I will."

He had the gun loaded, clenched tightly in his hands. _If I have half a second…_

"Do you really want to test me?" she asked harshly, a tinge of her accent cutting through. "Do you have any idea how many hunters I've had to take down? I've done it before and I can do it again." Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"What do you know about hunters?"

"More than you might think. About how to track them. And how to stop them." She pushed the pistol against Sam's temple. "I know how to stop them very well."

"You're protecting something that's dangerous, Angela. Do you want the blood of innocent people on your hands?"

"Do you? You assume the creature is dangerous because you don't know what it is. But you haven't _actually _seen it kill anyone, have you? You're hunting the wrong creature."

He paused. "Doesn't seem like I'm the one doing much hunting right now."

"I'm doing no differently than you are," she said.

"Oh no? You're going to shoot my brother," Dean said sharply.

"And you just_ shot _mine."


	5. Angela

Sam turned, bumping against the barrel of the pistol. Dean wore an expression of shock, the rifle nearly slipping from his fingers. "What?"

"What you just shot at? That was my brother. Roberto."

"Your brother?" whispered Sam. Angie had the gun steady against the side of his head.

"Yes. And you're not the first hunters to come looking for him. You're not even the first who've tried to kill him. But you are the first I've ever let get this close. I underestimated you."

"You underestimated _us?"_

"Put down your gun, Dean. I won't ask you again."

Dean remained frozen. But his face wore an expression of confusion—of indecision.

With a rapid movement Angela brought the pistol upwards and then down, hard, on the side of Sam's head. He fell sideways, gasping in pain, his vision splitting.

His brother hissed sharply, eyes narrowed. "You b…"

"YOU DO NOTHING BUT LOWER THAT GUN!" she shouted, pulling Sam roughly back to his knees. "NOW!"

Dean's eyes darted from Sam to Angela.

"Dean," Sam coughed, fighting nausea, and tried to regain his balance. "Do what she says."

"Sam…"

His head was swimming. "Just…do it."

His brother pursed his lip. Angela's eyes were locked on Dean, narrowed and sharp. He'd seen the look on her face before.

"Dean…please."

Dean swallowed. And slowly lowered the gun.

The tension in Angela's arm released a bit. "Throw it here."

The gun landed at her feet. She shoved Sam to the side, swooping both of their rifles out of the dry dirt and shouldering them.

Fishing in Sam's pocket she grabbed his pistol, and motioned Sam to his feet. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"For a ride."

* * *

They rode back in silence, Dean guiding the Impala slowly through the streets of Campeon.

She had managed to bundle them easily into the car. As far as Sam could tell, her methods were flawless. There hadn't been a single opportunity to take her down. He'd seen Dean searching for one, watching her movements, waiting for a chance that never came.

It was as though she knew every move he would try to make. Every move they would _both _make.

_How did I miss this? How did I not know?_

Thinking back on it, it'd been obvious. She'd known so much about the supernatural, but she hadn't seemed surprised at the fact that what she researched might be real. He should have figured it out the first time they discussed the Chupacabra. Dean had sensed it—he hadn't recognized it, but he sensed it.

_I should have listened to him._

Now his brother was silently guiding them towards the motel, his fists clenching the wheel, brooding. He wasn't used to getting beat. He didn't like getting beat. And the revelation about that wolf-creature was toying with his mind, Sam could sense it.

_That's her brother. A Supernatural creature. That skinny, quiet kid. A monster._

Dean pulled up to space in front of their room. Angela slid out of the passenger's seat, a quick glance around confirming they were alone.

"Out."

Sam pulled himself up on her side, his head still a little fuzzy. Angela's focus wasn't on him, but on Dean, who stood up from the driver's side.

"Hands on your head."

Dean made a face. "Come on,"

"Do it."

She hadn't seen his hands, and what he might have grabbed in the semi-lit darkness. She was covering her bases. Dean knew it.

Sam heard the click of a safety latch. "Now. You too, Sam."

He raised his hands to his head, steadying himself. After a moment, Dean followed, though he didn't move from the car until Sam passed near him.

"Allenstown," he muttered as he fell in line behind him.

Sam glanced sideways at him, his mind trying to make sense of what his brother had just said. _Allenstown…Allenstown…_

The picture cleared for a moment.

_Allenstown._

They'd been held hostage there by a rather nasty demon, if he remembered. Marched to their deaths, hands on heads. Dean had slipped, falling into him. The demon had come after them, annoyed and with defenses lowered, which had given Dean just enough time to take him down.

Sam inhaled, and shuffled his feet. Dean slouched behind him, his irregular footsteps kicking up dust. He could hear him moving forward, closer. Angela was behind them, a pistol in one hand, and their rifles in the other.

Dean, on cue, stumbled.

Sam turned as his legs got tangled in his brother's, tripping forward, towards the door. He caught sight of Dean's staggering down behind him, his hands releasing by reflex, to stop his fall.

To take care of Angela.

She darted forward before Dean hit the ground, tossing the rifles out of reach and catching him by the collar of his leather jacket. With a neat twist of her wrist, she yanked him backwards, bending him around until he was facedown in the dust. Her knee slammed down on his back, pinning his shoulder to the ground, his arm bent behind him in a hammerlock.

It was a perfect move. With her weight on the pivot of his shoulder blade, and his arm bent backwards, he could do nothing to shake her off. He struggled, but she held firm, her strong fingers locked on his forearm, bending his arm up until he flinched in pain.

Her pistol snapped up to Sam as he stood up, hands raised.

"Don't take me for a fool," she hissed. "Open the door."

Sam frowned at her, but fished in his pocket for the motel room key, and unlocked the room. As he moved slowly through the frame, she rose, twisting Dean's arm straight but keeping her foot on his back, and bent down to him, fumbling around his waist, rummaging roughly in his jacket and jeans pockets. Only when she had his keys did she lift her foot from his back and release him.

Dean pulled slowly to his feet, his face dark. Sam hadn't seen that expression before. He looked…_ashamed. _Violated, almost. And he was pissed about it. It had probably been a long time since he'd been manhandled like that.

At least involuntarily.

Dean brushed the dust off, tossing her one of his shallow grins he moved forward, trying to play cool. "Thanks, I…"

Angela didn't bother with his sarcasm. She pushed him into the room, shoving him with so much force he stumbled into Sam, knocking the both of them to the floor. She took the opportunity to scoop the guns out of the dust, shut the door and latch it behind them.

"That is really _not_ a good idea," said Dean angrily as he struggled to his feet. There was no attempt at mockery now. "You're going to want an easy exit."

"Why?" She turned to him, a suddenly easy smile on her face. "Are you going to jump me? Well, you're more than welcome to try. It's not going to make a difference."

"What's that supposed to…?"

She tossed his rifle to him, which he caught with a surprised expression. She did the same for Sam, also handing him his fully loaded .45. She stuffed her own pistol into the back of her jeans.

Dean raised an eyebrow. He looked about as stunned as Sam felt. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you back your guns."

"What?" Sam said.

"I have your keys," she said, jangling the Impala's keychain in front of them for a moment before shoving them in the back pocket of her jeans. "You won't be able to get them back, trust me. And you won't _shoot_ me, that much I can tell."

"I wouldn't bet on that," said Dean in a cold voice.

She shrugged at him. "You talk big, but you're no renegade. Not even you. And stop staring at me like that."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, ignoring Dean's bewildered expression, "you're letting us go? After all of that? You're just gonna let us walk?"

"Why would I want to keep you?" she asked patiently. "I have nothing against you."

"What the…?" Dean yelled. "What do you mean you have nothing against us? You nearly kill us, you manhandle us, you shove us around, and you have nothing against us? Are you psychotic?"

"Maybe. Did you consider that being manhandled?"

Dean colored. "You…"

"Look," she said seriously. "I don't want to go into the whole of the gritty details of my family, but let's put it this way—I have something I need to protect. You were threatening it. I had to step in and stop you. More precisely, I had to get you _away. _Which I did. Even if you were to walk out of that door right now, even if you could _drive_ out there, you'd wouldn't make it before sunrise—which is all that matters. It's as simple as that."

Dean studied her for a minute, searching for something to say. She shrugged at him.

"Something you have to protect—you mean your brother?" asked Sam. "That skinwalker?"

"No." she said flatly. "You should know better than that, Sam—even after all the hints I dropped you. He isn't a skinwalker. Didn't you learn anything from my folklore class?"

"Then what exactly is he?" interrupted Dean. "Because he sure as hell ain't human."

She narrowed her eyes. "He is Nahual."

"Nah-whall?" The name flashed through Sam's mind. It sounded vaguely familiar, though everything supernatural had a familiarity about it. "What's…"

"It's a shapeshifter," Dean answered abruptly. His expression had changed from anger to interest, his eyes focused and clear, as though he was suddenly remembering something he'd forgotten. "A werecreature."

"Not a werecreature. A protective spirit—a shaman, if you will," Angela said, pursing her lips. "Calling him anything other than Nahual implies he's dangerous, which he's not."

"Nahual were said, in ancient legends, to steal the children of unsuspecting neighbors."

"The Europeans made up those legends. The conquistadores. They called them demons. Made up lies about them stealing children, and souls, to help keep them under control. In the ancient cultures, Nahual were—and still are—guardians and protectors."

"And what is it, exactly, your brother is protecting?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think? Why else would he be out there risking his neck in that canyon every night? Getting shot at and attacked?"

"You mean he's trying to protect the _town_?" Dean crossed his arms. "That's not ambitious."

"He does what he can."

"Well, he may want to rethink his game plan, because from what I can tell he's not getting anywhere."

Her face darkened. "Saving lives is a big task to ask of anyone. In the stories, the Nahual protected one child. As it is, Roberto has already been pushed to his limit, trying to keep an eye on the fools who wander into that canyon _and _trying to track whatever's attacking them. It's not an easy job, especially when people don't heed the warnings. For the five who have died, there are probably fifteen whose necks he's saved. Including yours."

"Let me get this straight," said Sam, shaking his head, "your brother runs around as that…that _thing_ to protect people from…other creatures?"

"Why is that so strange to you?" Angela asked, putting her hands on her hips. "Don't you run around randomly hunting things that hunt other people? You don't think it's a little crazy to drive around the country, looking for supernatural occurrences, and saving people from them?"

"But we don't run around, turning into…" Sam paused, glancing aside at Dean. His brother continued to watch Angela.

"You don't turn into monsters? Well, neither does Roberto. That 'thing' he turns into is actually supposed to be a wolf—and he's been doing it for years. My whole family has, as a matter of fact. For generations. They have risked their lives, and their cover, to protect the people of this town time and again, without any credit to themselves."

"You mean…you, and your family…you've been a part of this…"

She bent her head towards him, nodding. "My whole life. I've known about all of it for as long as I can remember."

"From your parents?" asked Dean, walking across the room, still distracted. "Your father. He transformed, like your brother?"

Angela suddenly looked wary. "Yes. Not as a wolf, though. He was…"

"A coyote."

Her eyes widened. "How did you know that?"

"Dean…" Sam trailed off, staring at the book Dean suddenly held in his hand.

_Dad's journal…_

Dean flipped through the leather bound book, landing on a mysterious page that had had both he and Sam puzzled months ago. A page detailing a shapeshifter—a coyote and a wolf, drawn in two ways—the natural state, and then a weird, unanimal-like state. Their father had scratched the word 'najual' in the corner of the page, but had given no further details.

"At first we thought it was a skinwalker in different forms. There isn't much info on the Nahual in general—and nothing at all about its traits that would separate it from a skinwalker, so I didn't think it was any more than that," Dean said, tossing the journal on the bed, towards Angela. "But when I saw your brother last night, I thought I recognized it. Couldn't place it, though. Until just now—when you mentioned your family."

Angela studied the sketches in the journal, then glanced back up at him, wearing a guarded expression.

"Part of the reason you let us get 'close' is because you didn't want to hurt us, maybe. But you also let us go because you wanted to see how much we knew about _you. _ Whether we were playing your game.Whether he told usanything."

He glanced at Sam, who raised a questioning eyebrow. _He?_

"Dad."

"_What_?" Sam cried.

Dean continued. "You knew him. And he knew your family—at least enough that he left a clue behind for us. In case we ever came looking."

"Yes." Angela leaned back against the doorframe, taking a breath. When she looked up, her expression had softened. "Yes, I knew your Dad."

"How?" asked Sam, still in shock. "W-When?"

"About five years ago, he came into town, looking, like you were, for the Chupacabra. He wasn't fooled by the legends either. And the first place he figured to look was the family who knew the folklore of the area. He chased my father down on a hunt the second night he was in town. If it wasn't for me and Roberto, Mr. Winchester would have killed him."

"But he didn't."

"No…we managed to trap him. It took an entire day for him to believe we were what we said. And another before my father would allow him free range. He was very cautious, your father."

"And where were we?" Dean demanded. "Why wasn't I with him?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He mentioned you. Both of you. But you weren't there."

"And he just…_accepted_ what you were?"

"After learning about us, yes. To me it was strange, because he came at Roberto and my father with guns blazing, basically. But the more he learned about the Nahual, the more interested he became—he _wanted_ to believe. That something 'supernatural', as he called it, was good. I don't know if he ever really believed, but he left us alone after that. And he told us he'd try very hard to see to it we weren't bothered by anyone else.

"Though…who comes looking for us—who poses us the most danger since he came? His sons, who else?" She frowned. "I heard about what happened to him. I'm sorry."

Dean gathered the journal from the bed, smoothing out the pages. "Yeah."

"Five years ago," said Sam quietly. "Before Stanford."

Angela nodded. "Yes."

"Did…you knew I'd be going there?"

"I…"

"Did he tell you I'd be going there, Angela?"

She sighed. "Yes. He did. And before you ask, yes, he told me to look for you."

"Why?"

"He told me you were starting that year. He didn't say what you'd be doing, just that you were going there. When he found out I went there, he asked me to watch out for you. Keep an eye on you."

Sam sat down on the bed, eyes narrowed. "Keep an eye on me. So it was a set-up, then. You met me under his orders—to baby-sit me."

"Not to baby-sit you. To look out for you, in a way, I suppose. Mostly he was worried for you, though he wouldn't tell Papa why. It weighed on him.

"I didn't seek you out to spy on you, Sam. I sought you out because I respected your father, and I know what it's like, to be worried about someone when you can't always be there. I owed him something for listening to us. Checking up on you was my way of doing that."

"And all that time…when you were our friend…"

"I was your friend. That wasn't a lie."

"But you didn't feel it was worth it to tell me why you knew me."

"What purpose would it have served? You made no effort to tell me who your family was. How would I explain that I knew your father? Our lifestyles, Sam, don't really tend towards sharing family histories."

"It doesn't change the fact that you met me because my father told you to."

"Your father was a man to be respected," Angela said harshly. "I expected his son to be the same kind of man. That's why I watched out for you. Not because I wanted to keep tabs on you, but because I wanted to know you. It was a privilege for me to be able do that. And you lived up to your father's reputation. At least, you _did_."

"Angie…"

"That's enough, Sam," Dean said.

"Dean…"

"I said that'senough."

"You…"

"It doesn't make any difference now!" his older brother yelled. "Let it go."

"Your brother's right. It doesn't make any difference now."

Sam glanced from Dean to Angela; both looked weary and tired. "Whatever."

"It's late, and you need sleep. Both of you. And as neither of you is going anywhere soon, you might as well take advantage of the beds."

"What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." She slid over to a chair, grabbing her empty pistol and laying it across her lap.

"What about…" Dean trailed off, uncertainly. "What about your brother?"

"He'll be fine. You just scratched him. It wasn't a deep wound."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me I'm lucky I missed."

"I think you're right," she saluted him with the pistol. He snorted, but moved for the bathroom. She watched him go, a flat expression on her face, then turned.

"Sam…"

"Don't," he said quietly, kicking off his shoes. He didn't bother with even his jacket, just rolled backwards onto the bed slowly, his head still swimming, until blackness swallowed everything.

* * *

Dean found the keys to the Impala by his bedside when he woke.

There was no note, and no Angela.

His jacket was missing, too, which irritated him. She'd probably taken it to keep warm against the cold—considering it appeared she'd _walked_ home—but she could have found a way to let him know about it.

Sam was still sleeping, helped, he was sure, by the knock to the head he'd taken from her pistol.

He snuck out quietly, driving through Campeon for the nearest gas station, filled up and grabbed a cup of sluggish coffee.

His neck was stiff, his arm was sore, and his mouth still tasted of dirt, though he'd washed it out before he went to bed and after he got up. He still couldn't believe she'd manhandled him like that. It was like…like it had been _easy._ Like fifteen years of training—twenty years of experience—meant nothing.

He'd caught sight of Sam's expression as she'd planted him face first on the ground. He'd tried not to show how upset he was at that point, tried not to seem as pissed as he felt, but Sam knew him better.

Hell, Angela probably knew him better.

It had been a long time—a _very _long time—since anyone had so completely had their number. They hadn't been able to do _anything. _If she'd been a demon, something supernatural, they'd be dead, he was sure of it.

But she wasn't. She was one human girl—a small human girl, at that—and she'd figured them every time they tried to do anything.

_I should have known something was up. I didn't even see the warning signs. People who don't know about the supernatural are freaked out when someone brings up the idea of it's being real. She wasn't. I should have known._

But it wasn't so much that she'd been aware of what they were. It was that she'd been able to figure out their game plan ever step of the way. But she couldn't have—she was just…skilled. She had to be—she'd had no time to study them. And knowing their father was not knowing them.

_God. She knew Dad._

That was what stunned him the most—and there was a lot that had surprised him last night. His dad had come here—had been here, with her, with her brother, her father, and hadn't made a move. Hadn't 'taken care' of anything.

He'd let a supernatural creature _live_.

_Why the hell would he do that?_

Could it be like she said? That he'd found no danger here? Would his father really let something like this go?

The idea of innocent, 'good' supernatural things in this world was still a question mark for him. He'd had no reason to believe it was possible. There just wasn't enough proof. Nothing they'd met, even things claiming to be innocent, ever really were. The Vamps, the ghosts.

The werewolves.

It always ended up bad, whenever something supernatural was involved, even if the intention was good. Nothing supernatural was ever good.

Sam was awake when he returned with a cup of joe for him. He winced as he stood up, touching a hand to the side of his head.

"How's your head?"

"It's there," Sam said quietly. "What happened to Angie?"

"GI Jane, you mean? Dunno. She was gone when I left. No note, but she left the keys. Guess she walked home." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "She took my jacket."

"Your jacket? Why would she do that?"

"I don't know. She was cold?"

"No. Angie wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't what?"

"I was going to say she wouldn't take it for no reason, but now, I guess I don't know what she would do. I…"

"Don't know her as well as you think you did? Dude, I could have told you that. He grinned. "Guess she's a little closer to my type than you thought."

Sam just shook his head, wincing. "Well, I guess you were right."

"About what?"

"The instinct thing."

"Damn straight."

His brother stared at him for a moment. "All this time…I can't believe she knew about us. I can't believe she knew _Dad_."

"I know. Freaky, right?"

"And all that time I was at Stanford—she knew I was there. She was looking for me. Watching me. Maybe reporting back to him. It's just…"

"Freaky?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "Freaky."

"I suppose we should think about heading over there," said Dean.

"You really want to?" asked Sam with a hint of amusement. "You're not afraid of getting assaulted again?"

"I need my jacket back." He tried to maintain some calm, though Sam's grin brought back some of the irritation from the night before. "And we need to find out more about her brother and his 'transformation.' Dad may not have seen anything to worry about, but we need to be sure. I'm still not entirely convinced that thing _isn't_ a skinwalker."

"Can we do it a bit more subtly this time, though? I'm not really in the mood to get pistol whipped again."

Dean tried to think of something smart to say, but there was nothing. She'd kicked both their asses. "Yeah, me neither. Change your clothes. We've got a house call to make."


	6. Roberto

Nobody answered the door when they pulled up to it thirty minutes later. They skirted around back, checking through the windows, though Dean made about every noise he could possibly make, to alert Angie of their presence. Sam guessed he was being cautious, to prevent her from pulling a gun in their faces again, but the whole act was a bit amusing.

No one came to the back door, either, though Angie's truck was in the drive. Dean ran a hand through his hair, at a loss as for what to do. "They're not here."

"What about back there?" Sam nodded towards a few ancient looking boarded buildings on the property, which stretched back a couple hundred yards. Dean shrugged, and they moved towards them.

Outside of the first shed, which looked like a makeshift garage, they heard some noises. A muffled whining, along with scuffling and a hushed, though harried, female voice.

_Angie…_

Dean nodded to Sam, and then rapped on the door lightly. There was a pause.

"It's Dean. And Sam."

"Go ahead," said the voice in a strained tone.

Sam swung the door open, and they both peered inside the dimly lit room.

Angie was about ten feet away from them, leaning over a large figure, one arm securing it down, much as she had done with Dean the night before. She had a pistol raised towards them, which she lowered it as soon as they walked in. "Shut it behind you."

He shut the door, letting his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. When it was latched she released her hold, letting the strange creature dodge into the shadows.

"What's going on?" asked Dean warily.

"He's trying to transform back," she said, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. "It's not easy after all he's been through. He doesn't have a lot of strength. If he doesn't concentrate, he'll end up in pain."

The creature moaned in response. She lay her gun to the side, crawling over to him, and spoke a few words in his ear. His paws flailed out, nearly striking her in the cheek, half formed claws swiping at the air.

"Can we help?" Dean asked.

She thought for a moment. "If you can help hold him down, that usually works. It forces him to concentrate."

Dean paused, looking uneasy about approaching the creature. She gazed up at him, her dark eyes narrowed, and he swallowed, stepping forward, into the shadows.

The wolf thing was in front of them, crouched in the corner, staring with wary eyes. It swiped at him as he knelt down; Angela grabbed at the foreleg and restrained it against the creature's side.

Up close, Sam could see the shape of Robert's face in the creature—the high cheekbones, the strange, tilted brown eyes.

Dean exhaled, kneeling down, and placed his hands on the creature's free arm. He made a face as his hands came in contact with the grayish, clammy skin, but he pushed it back, pinning the arm to the creature's side, forcing it onto its back.

"Come on," he said to Sam.

Sam moved forward. The image of Dean holding down the creature, subduing it, made him stop. _That's…_

_That could be me._

"Sam."

Sam stood, transfixed, as the creature let out a small whimper.

"Sam!"

"It's no use," Angela said, her arms suddenly tightening around her brother. "He's starting."

Robert let out a moan, yellow eyes snapping shut. Slowly his body began to vibrate, his head jiggling from side to side, the angular cheekbones protruding inward, then outward, under his skin. His nose pulled into a more human-like shape, and the dark hair of his forebrow began to recede back.

Angela fought to keep his arms and upper body steady as the transformation became more violent. The creature let out a more audible whine, his body morphing grotesquely between them. Dean's arms were taut with the task of holding him down, and he grunted once, trying to keep him still.

Sam watched in silence, backing into the corner by the door. There was something about the thing in front of him—a weird, half-man—that was both frightening and mesmerizing at the same time.

There was a creaking sound, like bones being broken and put back together. The hind legs elongated as the Nahual moaned; fingers straightened, claws pulled into thin fingernails. He howled; a high pitched, vibrant sound that caused Dean to flinch and Sam to raise his hands to his ears.

With a shudder, he was finished, a thin, naked man lying unconscious on the ground. Angela grabbed a blanket from behind her and covered her brother with it as Dean released the Nahual, sinking into a crouch and flexing his fingers.

"Is it always like that?" Sam asked.

"Not always," she said quietly. "Help me get him inside. I'll explain."

Dean and Angela bundled him down through the backside of the house, into his small room, and laid him down on the bed. Sam was leaning over the sink when his brother came back out, rubbing his face with his hands.

"You okay there, Sammy?"

He turned to face him. Dean looked slightly shaken, but complacent—as though he was expecting this.

"Dean…"

"That's not you."

He frowned. "Dean, what just happened…"

"Has absolutely nothing to do with you. That's a shapeshifter, that's it. Whatever you're thinking, man, let it go."

"You think it's just that easy?" Sam hissed. "That you can just see something like that and forget about everything else?"

"Of course not," Dean snapped back. "There are a lot of things we've done I can't forget. But right here, right now? This is only about that thing back there, and not about you, Sam."

"Are you alright?" Angie asked, coming out of Robert's room and shutting the door quietly. "I heard arguing."

"Fine," they said in unison. A grin flitted across her face. "Let's go outside."

* * *

Dean was still flushed as he walked out the little screen door, into Angela's backyard. Sam was doing his best to look calm—normal—but Dean was still angry, and he didn't care much at the moment if Angela knew or not.

_I can't believe he'd bring that up again._

His arms ached slightly from the strain of holding down Angela's brother during his transformation, on top of the soreness from the events last night. The whole thing was a blur in his mind; the creature's bones snapping and elongating, turning from a thing back into a person.

Angela had been focused; completely concentrated on her brother and making sure he got through everything. And Sam had stood, frozen, watching the whole scene with horror in his face. Dean knew what he was thinking the moment he stopped moving forward. That fear, that disbelief in what was happening—he could see himself going through the same thing—becoming something else.

And what ended up happening? He went back into the 'I'm doomed to go evil one day' mode again.

"It hasn't been this bad in a while." Angela's voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned to her. He only just realized they'd stopped moving, and now she was leaning up against her truck, scuffing at the gravelly drive with her boot. "Roberto is young. Nahual shapeshift like some werecreatures—morphing form—but their strength depends on their age, time of day, lunar cycles, things like that. He's not mastered transforming yet, and the more he does it, the more it eats away at his strength. He doesn't have enough energy to sustain a wolf form, but he also doesn't have enough energy to revert to human form."

"What happens if he doesn't?" Sam asked.

"The pain of being in-between states is incredible, especially during the daytime," she said. "If he were to stay in the form you saw him in, as the day progressed, it would take its toll on his body, and eventually kill him. Not to mention he's already weak, and gets sick easily. If he's not careful, he will die."

"Why don't you just stop him from transforming?"

"Believe me, I'm trying! But the problem with Nahual is, they want to protect. They're _called_ to protect. Right now, there is something in that canyon that is threatening this town. And he can't stop transforming until he discovers what that is. He's been going out every night, and I'm worried. You see what it's done to him already. He's not supposed to look like that—that half creature. He's _supposed _to be a full wolf. But he's been running around in that form for almost a week now—I can't even imagine what kind of pain he's been in." She rubbed her face. "He's such a stubborn idiot. I admire his determination and what he's trying to do, but watching him go through that…it really sucks."

"I bet it does," said Dean, glancing sideways at Sam. "Especially because it's your hardheaded little brother."

"Exactly." She smiled at him, and pulled herself up from the truck. "Well, I guess we're done for today, at least. I know I could stand a cup of tea—java for you guys, I bet—and some rest. And I have your jacket for you. I cleaned it."

"Thanks. You didn't…"

"It's real leather. I know how hard that is to get clean. I guess I kinda owed it to you for getting it dirty in the first place. You know, the whole hardnosed, taking-advantage-of-you business."

Dean felt his face flush. "Ahhhh…that wasn't necessary."

"Maybe not," she said, her grin returning. "But it was worth it."

* * *

The first sign of Roberto was around noon, when he stumbled weakly from the bedroom to the restroom across the hall. He padded out a few minutes later, his face pale and sunken in. He winced as he moved his joints around.

Angela came over to him, putting one hand on his face. "Okay?" she whispered. "_Como te sientes?"_

"_Bien,"_ he replied. "I'm fine." He turned to them. His voice was raspy and quiet.

Dean nodded. Sam handed him a cup of coffee, which he took with a salute.

"I'm going to clean up the shed out back," said Angela. Robert gazed at her with a troubled expression.

She smiled gently. "You can trust them."

"I'll help you with that shed," Sam offered. She smiled at him and he followed her through the screen door.

Dean watched them go, then turned back to Robert, observing the kid as he swallowed the coffee. It felt…weird…to be talking to it—him. "How are you feelin' there, Rob?"

The young man looked up at him warily. "I've had better mornings," he said. "I saw you out on the flat yesterday night, and the night before, yes? Hunting? You're a pretty good shot." He yanked on a side of his t-shirt. A cut lanced across the top of his left shoulder. "Nearly got me with one of those silver bullets last night."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. Didn't know the whole story. Still don't know the whole story," he mumbled.

"It happens, I guess. I'm assuming you ran into Angelita last night?" His voice pronounced the middle syllable like an 'h', with a pretty lisp over the name. 'An-heh-leeta.'

"Uh, yeah. Actually I think she kinda she ran _over _us."

Robert's subdued expression faded, and he laughed. "Yeah, she does that."

They sat in silence for a minute.

"So—uh, just out of curiosity…exactly how long has she been training—you know, to protect you, hunt, that sort of thing?"

"Papa had her training at three, from what I was told. That was four years before I was born."

Dean nearly spit out his coffee. _Three_? "As in three years old? She's been in training that long?" _No wonder she kicked our asses!_

"Yeah. She had to be. When I was born, she knew how to handle rifles and she was a blackbelt, or something like that."

"Damn."

The kid smiled. "Well, it was something she had to do. I can't help it when I transform sometimes, and she—well when we're like this, we can't protect ourselves. I have to rely on her. I hate that, because I think she maybe didn't deserve this. She could have been normal, and had a normal life, but it's never been an option for her."

He nodded. He had a feeling he understood that a lot better than either one of them knew.

"Now that Papa's dead, it's harder. Nights like the last one I hate the most, because there's nothing I can do to help her."

"What do you mean—you don't know what's going on?"

"I do, but it's refined—like an animal sense. The back of my mind is filled with a subconscious, guiding me to certain things I know, but the rest is what I guess is a wolf-like sense. It's overpowering at times."

"How do you know that sense isn't just going to run off with you sometime—make you do something bad?"

Robert's eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded across his forehead, and he slumped a little. "Because that's not what we do. That's not who we are."

"Yeah, but…you just said you can't control it sometimes."

"The sense, no, but the purpose? We never lose control of that."

"How do you lose one but not the other?"

"Well, how do you?"

"What?"

"How do you keep from going out and randomly shooting everything in sight when you feel like it? You're trained, right? You're a hunter. Why aren't more people dead at your hands?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm not…I'm human."

"From my experience, that doesn't always mean much." Robert sat back. "You don't go around firing on people because you have an inner conscience that guides you. Same with us."

"Yeah, but…"

"But…"

"You're…"

"Animals?" Robert shook his head. "We're not—not completely. We're in-between, I guess you could say. In our entire history, you'll never find a time when we've broken the code. Sure, people pretended we did, just like they pretended that faith healers were witches and shamans were _brujeros_. But truthfully, you won't find a history of Nahual like you do with werewolves and other creatures. We don't kill. We never have."

Dean pursed his lips.

"You find that hard to believe?"

"Yes," Dean said slowly. "With things like this, there's always a dark side, no matter what the intention. Never fails."

Robert slowly smiled. "I think you need to get out more."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I've been in this business for almost twenty-two years. I think I've gotten out plenty."

"Then maybe you should change your perspective. My experience, if you seek the bad, you'll find it—or it'll find you. Maybe you should look for the good once in a while." He reclined back, stretching out his legs. "Your father did."

Dean stiffened.

"You know I didn't like him at first? Of course, I was only fourteen at the time, but he seemed like such a badass. First time I saw him he had a gun on my father, and Angie had a gun on him. She shot the rifle right out of his hands."

"What?"

"Straight shot. He had an expression almost like the one you're wearing, as a matter of fact, when it happened. Anyway, he took quite a time to get used to the idea of us, but my father convinced him, eventually."

Dean shook his head. "Why wouldn't he have told us about this?" he questioned softly. "This wasn't like him."

"Would you have believed him?" Robert replied.

Dean thought for a minute, then smiled. "Probably not."

"Then, you see for yourself." The teenager smiled, then bent over, coughing. Dean pulled to his feet, bending over him as his body was racked with spasms. He finished with a huff, sweat dripping from his brow, and wiped a small trace of blood from around his mouth.

"Why do you keep going back, if you know this can kill you?"

"Because I have to," Roberto replied weakly. "I can't make real sense of it, only to say there's something out there, endangering people, and I have to find it."

"Can't you wait one or two weeks? Until you can get stronger, nature or the moon or whatever can get…you know, whatever it does to make you stronger?" He shook his head. Barring the talk about his dad, it was _still _one of the weirdest conversations he'd ever had.

Robert grinned. "It doesn't work like that. When you get called, you get called. No matter when. Thankfully it's only at night, but if I feel it, I feel it. And I have to go. I guess a werewolf, or whatever, does the same with the full moon. Same for me."

"And what if you die? That'll kill your sister."

"I know it would. But I don't have a choice, do I? This is what I am. What God has willed for me. Whatever I am supposed to do, I'm supposed to do." His eyes glittered for a moment. "Even if it means I die."

"Yeah, well…even if that's the God's honest truth, I have to tell you, Rob…it kinda sucks."

The young man laughed softly, closing his eyes. "_Asi es_. Don't you and I both know it."

* * *

"Throw those over there." Angela motioned to the blankets strewn across the floor, covered in dog hair and skin. "I'll wash them later."

"You do this every month?"

"Are you kidding? I've been doing this almost every day! Whatever's in that canyon needs to be caught, and fast."

"So…I take it it's not the local Chupacabra?"

"If it were, I'd be a heck of a lot happier right now, believe me. No, it's not a Chupacabra. It's something that's only been in the area a few months. Roberto's spotted it off and on, but he can't really get a good sight on it. It runs away every time he gets close."

Sam watched her for a moment as she re-hung some rope on the shed wall. "I can't believe you go through this…both of you."

"Yeah, well, that's just this life, I suppose. I haven't really known anything else."

He laughed softly. "All this time. You've known more about me—about _this—_than…"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

He glanced over at her. She'd stopped arranging, and was staring at him, her eyes soft.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth. Then, and in the past few days. I've known what you two have been up to for years, but I couldn't bring myself to let you know the truth about it until I had to. Part of that was protecting my brother. But I guess part of that was protecting you, too. I kinda hoped you two would move on without discovering anything."

He snorted. "Fat chance. Dean's very good at being persistent."

"No kidding." She shook her head. "He reminds me of a certain someone."

"My Dad?"

She laughed. "No. Me."

"You?" Sam stared at her. "I don't think so."

"Well, maybe not in particulars, but his instinct as a hunter? I get that. He's one of the most perceptive I've ever seen. He knew something was off with us the first time I met him. Not even your Dad had us pegged the first go around."

"Yeah, well. Dean's naturally suspicious of everybody. That's not instinct. It's him being a stubborn jerk."

"Well, whatever it is, it's good for the both of you. I'm sure that jerkiness has saved your lives more than once. He's got a real protective streak about him, too, I can tell."

Sam frowned. "No kidding."

"You don't like your brother looking out for you?"

"No…I…I'm glad Dean's so 'protective', but frankly, I'm kinda tired of being protected. I don't need protection. I'd just like the truth once in a while."

"Maybe people don't always tell you the truth because there's no point to it."

"That _is _something Dean would say."

"See?" She flashed him a quick grin, which faded at the expression on his face. "Come on—in all honesty, knowing what you know now, do you feel learning the truth has really changed anything? I mean, really?"

He frowned. "Not in general, no. But…you knew my father. You knew him—you knew what he wanted for me before I had a clue about it. It would have been nice to know that. Even just a little part of it."

She shook her head. "It wasn't my job to fix things between you and your Dad, Sam, any more than it was his responsibility to help me with my family. The choices you made were completely your own. For good or bad. Knowing I knew him wouldn't have changed the outcome."

"I know." He bent down, picking up a blanket from the dirt and shaking it out. "I know that."

"Then try not to hold it against me for not bringing that life back to you, when you were trying so hard to leave it behind. There was a time when you would have gotten very angry at being let in on what you now know."

He stared at her for a moment. "That seems like a long time ago."

"It wasn't that long ago."

"Whether it was or not, it's gone, now. All that's left are memories, and bits and pieces of what I thought I knew. And even those bits and pieces I'm not so sure about anymore."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Those people, the memories…they're all I have left of…"

"Of?"

He sighed. "They're all I have left. If I find out they're not real…"

"They were real. They were _real. _You know that, even if you want to be stubborn about it. And I'm not going to explain it to you."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"Oh, I have a feeling you would. But Sam—sooner or later you've got to realize that you're not the only one whose life is difficult. Just not everyone is interested in making a production out of it."

"That's…"

"Hey," Dean cracked open the door to the shed, glancing between them and raising an eyebrow before turning to Angela. "You better come inside. He's not doing so hot."

Her expression immediately changed to concern, and she pushed past them, rushing into the small house. Dean had helped Robert into the bedroom, covering him with a blanket. He was shaking, his face covered with sweat.

"_Dios Mio,_" she murmured, putting a hand on his head. "Roberto."

"Do you need to take him to a hospital?" Dean asked, glancing down at the young man with a worried expression.

"Can't," she said, pushing past him to the bathroom. She returned with a wet rag. "He's been transforming too much. Something might happen."

"But…what if he…"

She shook her head. "He's done this a couple of times before. It'll pass, but I can't let him go out tonight."

"N—no," chattered Roberto suddenly, opening his tilted eyes. "_Me necesito. Hay algo horrible aya. Necesito matarlo_."

"What?" asked Sam.

"There's something in the canyon, something horrible," said Dean. "He wants to kill it."

Angela and Sam both turned to him incredulously.

"You speak Spanish?" asked Sam.

Dean shrugged. "A little. Had to. I understand better than I speak."

"Had to for what?"

"You'd be surprised how many supernatural things speak Spanish."

"Wha…"  
"Regardless, he's not going out there tonight," Angela said forcefully, ignoring them. "You're staying here, whether you like it or not."

"Angelita…"

"_No. No te mueves de esta lugar, compredeme_?"

"_Pero…el…_"

"I'll do it," she said. "I'll go out there tonight and hunt it."

"You can't take it alone," Roberto said, his eyes widening. "You'll…"

"Not be alone," said Dean.

Angela turned to him. He nodded back at her. "We came out here to hunt something that was threatening this town. We haven't done that yet. Seems like we've still got a job to do, right Sammy?"

Sam nodded, glancing over at Angela. She threw him a questioning glance. "We'll take care of your sister."

"Or, she'll take care of us," murmured Dean. "Hopefully in the good way."

"There. So you'll stay here, you got that?"

Robert stared at them for a moment, then nodded weakly. "You'd better be careful, Angelita. I won't forgive you if you don't come back."

"And I won't forgive you if you leave this bed. You better not, you understand me? Unless you want me to seriously kick your butt when I get back."

Dean leaned over to Sam with a grin. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

He didn't look back at him. "A little."


	7. Hunt

"I think our best bet is to come in near that bridge," Angela told Dean a little while later, laying out one of Sam's maps on her kitchen table. Roberto had fallen asleep earlier that afternoon, and hadn't stirred from the bedroom. "I have a feeling that whatever it is, it's coming across from the mesa. That area isn't very high in relation to other mesa, but there are still a few nooks and crannies it can hide in during the day."

"Any idea as to what this thing is?" Dean asked.

She shook her head. "No clue. Since neither of us has seen it, the only thing I have to go on is the smell. Roberto says it smells horrible."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "It does."

"I've been out there a few times, but with Roberto moving so fast, it's pointless for me to hunt it with him. He covers ten times more ground than I do, and if I try and make myself the target, the creature leaves whenever Roberto comes near. It's afraid of him, somehow. Or just doesn't want to deal with him."

Sam came in through the back door. "I put everything in the Impala. We should be ready. Any ideas?"

"Here," she said, gesturing to an area they'd scouted yesterday. "Straight line to the bridge, and a clear path out of the area should we need to get out quickly."

"In case Stinky gets feisty," Dean said.

Sam tossed him an annoyed look, then turned to Angela, and asked rather stiffly, "have you heard of any legends related to monsters that…"

"Smell? Tons. Demons to werewolves to some poltergeists. There's just too much material on things that smell horrible."

"It's not a demon. No sulfur smell. It's more…"

"Rank," muttered Dean.

"Roberto seems to think it's more a creature than anything else. But that's not much to go on! Bigfoot could be smelly. Skinwalkers can be smelly. It could be anything, and there isn't any kind of folklore in this area to support one particular theory."

"Guess we're just going to have to go out there and see for ourselves."

Angela rolled up the map. "Did you get everything I asked you to?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Though I still don't know why you'd want a flamethrower."

"You have a flamethrower?" Dean's eyes glittered.

"Precautions," she said. "We don't know what we're dealing with. If it's a wendigo, better safe than sorry."

Dean glanced over at Sam. "Man, no wonder Dad liked this family."

* * *

They left as the sun set, Angela checking one more time on her brother, who hadn't moved from his spot on the bed. They reached the park as darkness settled on South Texas, the air slightly warmer than the night before.

They parked the Impala—which Angela has opted they take over her truck for speed purposes—in a clearing that had wide-open access to the road. Dean was a little wary of leaving the car in nearly plain sight, but Angela had that covered as well—a State park services tag that would assure rangers they were in the area for research purposes.

"One of the local professors is a supplier," she said when Sam raised a questioning eyebrow. "He knows things and he can get things."

"And you trust him?"

"He's known about us for as long as I've been alive. And sometimes you have no choice."

"What would it have been like if we'd been born into this life?" Dean asked quietly as Angela moved ahead into the wooded area. "You think we'd know as much as she does? Her brother said she's been training since she was _three!_"

"Who says we don't?" said Sam. "Dad had you training at four."

"Yeah, but…Dad didn't know what he was doing half the time, until we were older. Could you imagine if he'd known about this the whole time? That yellow-eyed bastard wouldn't stand a chance."

"I don't think living in this world means you're invincible, Dean," Sam said quietly. "We might not have been born into it, but we're also not hunted like a pair of wild animals."

Dean made a face. "We're not?"

"Okay, well, we are _now_, but we didn't used to be. Not when we were little. I don't know what life's been like for her, but something tells me it's not been easy. I honestly don't know how she's done it."

"Because she's strong," Dean said simply. "She does what she has to, to protect her family."

"Yeah. Including lying to old friends."

"Are you still bent out of shape about that? You do what you gotta do. I respect her for it."

Sam snorted. "Like you respect her for throwing you face down in the dirt?"

"Look, I might not _like _it, but I respect it," he tossed Sam a pointed look. "I don't have to remind you I'd do the same if you were in danger and I had to protect you. Why am I defending her to you, anyway? She's your friend."

Sam shrugged, watching her as she scouted up ahead. "I don't know. I don't feel like I know her anymore. I never really knew her, I guess."

Dean stopped, sniffling a little from breeze, and looked up at Sam. "Yes, you did."

Angela turned to watch them, a questioning look on her face. Sam shook his head as they started forward, keeping his voice low. "Well, I don't know her anymore. She's different. She's…" he looked back down at Dean. "She's you."  
Dean frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind."

"Look…I don't know what you're 'seeing', but she hasn't changed as much as you think. She obviously cares about _you_. She could have tossed us both out with the trash, or worse, but she didn't. And she's out here, basically alone, to protect not only her brother, but the people of her town. She's still a good person, Sammy, and that hasn't changed at all. Maybe that's what you should be thinking about, instead of whining about how she's betrayed your trust."

"There's more to it than that, Dean."

"Really? Well, you know on the flip side, it's not exactly like you've been all that truthful with her, and she's forgiven you for it. Maybe you should think about that. It's not the first time we've come across people who've blamed Dad for hurting their family. But it is the first time they haven't blamed _us _for it."

He turned, pushing into the brush towards where Angela was waiting. Sam watched him for a minute. He didn't have to think too hard about who Dean was referring to. It still irritated his brother that Jo and Ellen blamed them for their father's part in Ellen's husband's death. Dean didn't care too much what others thought of them in general, but when it came to their father, he was very protective.

_Not just Dad. All of us._

_Just like Angie is, with her family._

He took a breath, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. In a way, Dean was right. He'd have to trust her, for now. They had something to hunt, and that was what was most important.

There was no point getting killed over something that couldn't be changed.

* * *

They reached the bridge after a short half a mile, treading across the simple metal structure carefully. It wasn't constructed very sturdily—obviously not for public use—and it wobbled under their combined weight.

Sam glanced around at the dense cover. The moon was completely in the new moon phase, and the only light in the area, beyond their maglites, were the blanket of stars, which periodically disappeared beneath a thin layer of cloud cover.

They'd not heard anything coming from the area before the bridge. It was quiet, with only the sounds of the night in the air. But it became obvious after they crossed the bridge that whatever had been attacking the population made its home in the ridges of the mesa.

They followed the foul scent to a thickly wooded area at the base of the low hill. There was a small canyon that bent and twisted through the mesa, cutting a ridge that curved deep into the hill. They pressed into it.

The area reeked of decay; a musty, foul smell that pervaded the nooks and crevices far below the top of the ridge. Old moss clung to the rocks, oozing with rot, making the terrain slippery and treacherous.

Sam struggled to maintain a firm foothold, a shotgun clutched in his hand, his other outstretched to test the air before him. He'd encountered this smell in the heart of bogs and swamps, but never in a canyon, where clear air blew just a few feet above them.

"This stinks, man. I mean that literally," said Dean from behind him.

Angela brought up the rear, her rifle slung across her shoulder. One arm covered her nose. "This is horrible. I've never smelled anything like it."

"Try traveling with him for a few days," Sam replied. "And no bathrooms."

"Ha-ha," his brother said flatly. "Very funny, Dane Cook."

"I'm just trying to get you to take a bath every once in a while."

Dean made a face at him.

Angela was grinning softly.

Sam smiled back, a little sheepishly. "Whatever this is, it can't be anything alive," he said, growing serious. "That thing must have brought its prey here and buried it."

"Or strung it up," Dean commented, his nose covered with his sleeve. "Nothing buried would smell this bad. I mean, how the hell did they miss this?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe they weren't looking for it. The smell was gone when the bodies were found. And there's no reason a 'wild' creature would give off this much of a scent. They probably think it's something dead and rotting around here."

"A lot of somethings."

Angela shook her head. "What if it's the creature itself? Even if it had brought one or two bodies out here, they wouldn't smell this strongly. It doesn't smell like decomposition anyway. This is musty—almost like musk. What if the creature is giving out a scent?"

"Why?"

"To attract other creatures, maybe bigger predators it can prey on."

"Like what?"

"Well, like us?"

Both boys turned.

She shrugged. "We are walking _towards _it, you know. If it's doing it, it's working."

Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a noncommittal expression. "Okay, well, if that's the case, I guess we better be prepared." He stopped, looking over his rifle, and bolted a bullet into place. He pulled the .45 from his pocket, checking the pistol and clicking off the safety, then double checked the knives stuck in his belt buckle and boot.

"Are you done there, Terminator?" Angela asked softly. "I mean, you got anything else you want to load into place?"

He gave her a sour look. "I don't like safeties off if I don't have to."

"You've been walking with the safeties on? And what would you have done if that thing had attacked you before now?"

He grinned. "I had you here to protect me."

She slapped him on the shoulder. "Nice. Please tell me I don't come off as sensible as this guy, Sam."

"Just a little."

She reached over and slapped him on the shoulder as well. "Let's go." Sam grinned at her, rubbing his arm. Despite being in the midst of the hunt, he began to feel a little more comfortable.

The overhung crevasse cut through the backside of the mesa, widening into a sparse forest. The smell lingered, but not as strongly as in the canyon.

"It's pretty flat here. Be careful," Dean warned. "It could come from anywhere."

They separated, stalking quietly through the forest. Every little movement caused Sam to jump, his shotgun level and ready to fire.

He could barely see Angela's blue flannel in the darkness. Dean was between them, hunched down slightly, surveying the area behind them. He looked tense, completely focused on what he was doing.

A clacking sound suddenly filtered through the forest, echoing between the thin trees, and carrying off into the air. Sam paused, listening as it echoed again. Dean closed ranks, his head slightly tilted, listening. "You hear that?"

"Yeah."

"I heard it the first night. Like one of those wooden clacking games."

"It might be a guttural call," said Sam.

"You got any ideas?"

Sam shook his head. "A beast that gives off a scent and makes a clacking sound? No."

"The rest of the area's gone semi-quiet," said Angela, coming up beside them. "It's gotta be close."

Sparse clouds were floating overhead, dimming the faint starlight. Sam hated to click off the flashlight, but if the creature was alerted to their presence by the strong beams, they couldn't use them. He flicked his off, letting his eyes adjust to the dim canyon area around them.

The clacking came again, this time from the northwest.

"I think we should split up," Sam said.

"And why's that, Freddy?" Dean asked.

"This thing knows we're out here. It's obviously got some kind of instinct. I think we can corral it if we approach from two different angles. Maybe drive it into that crevice we just passed through."

"And trap it there?"

"There, or between us and the river."

Dean turned to Angela. "What do you think?"

Angela shook her head. "I honestly don't know. We don't know what we're dealing with. It could be bigger than we figure, or smarter. Splitting up might put us all in danger."

"But if we don't, we might not be able to lure it out. This way we can at least get a sight on it. If it's too big, we come back. Think of something else."

Dean thought for a moment, then frowned. "Alright. Anyone gets a sight on it, you find the others, you got it? Don't lower your weapons and _don't _try to take it by yourself."

"Be careful," Angela said to them, disappearing into the darkness.

"Don't try any funny business, Sammy," Dean said. "You know the drill."

"I know the drill. Be careful, man."

"Yeah."

* * *

Sam moved up to the north, watching as Dean disappeared behind him. Angela was already out of sight, her soft footsteps disappearing beneath the sounds of the nighttime insects, frogs and fowl around the lake.

He heard the sound—the 'clacking' sound—further northwards. He pushed forward cautiously, gun raised, stifling his breathing.

It took him a few minutes to push through the brush, despite its scarcity. The smell began to pick up as a thin breeze blew through the canyon off the reservoir.

He stopped, listening. He thought he could hear the sound of heavy breathing somewhere nearby. It was too deep and long to be human.

Sam crouched low, pulling his rifle to his side, and waited.

* * *

Dean moved quietly through the brush, alert to the sounds of the forest around him. He hadn't heard or seen Sam or Angela for almost fifteen minutes, though the clacking noise had grown fainter and moved further north.

Whatever they were hunting was intelligent for a creature. He hoped it wasn't a Wendigo or some other type of humanistic animal. All his senses told him they weren't dealing with a humanoid, but those things were damn clever at times, and were certainly a lot stronger than any one of them alone could handle.

Something snapped in the forest ahead of him. He raised his rifle, hunching down closer to the ground. His eyes had adjusted to the near darkness, but not enough for him to make out objects more than ten or twenty feet away.

A shadow flittered through the trees to his left. He carefully lowered the rifle, drawing the .45 out of his jacket pocket. Something told him he'd need a faster, more maneuverable weapon here.

He stalked up on it, carefully keeping between the shadows of the trees, watching the ground in front of him for dry brush.

Whatever was moving was moving slowly, deliberately.

The scent that lingered about wasn't too strong. He frowned, trying to make out what he was tracking.

The shadow paused. He heard a small click, then another one.

He stood, raising the pistol eye level.

And froze.

* * *

Sam raised a hand to his face, keeping his nose pressed to his sleeve. The scent of the thing was really nauseating. His mind raced, trying to remember what he'd researched about creatures that gave off scent. At this point, he was more than certain Angela's theory about the creature was right, and that it was actually the thing giving off the smell rather than its victims.

Nothing came immediately to mind, however. Nothing he could remember, from the Internet, their father's journals, Bobby's notes—even Angela's folklore class—raised a memory of something that's most defining trait was its intense smell.

Something shifted in the woods to the east. Sam whirled to the side, his shotgun raised eye level, and tried to focus on the thing that moved.

He heard the clacking, much louder, as the shadow pushed through the trees. It was incredibly large. The rest of the wood was terribly silent. Not even an insect chirped.

_It's HERE._

* * *

"You're lucky I like those safeties," Dean said, lowering his pistol.

Angela stepped over a tree root, coming up next to him. "You are impossibly cautious."

"For which you should be counting your lucky stars."

"If I thought you would shoot, do you think I would have let you get that close?"

He made a face.

"You seen anything?" she asked, ignoring his expression.

"Nope."

"This feels a little strange, doesn't it? There's no sign of it anywhere."

He nodded. They started back up towards the north, guns raised. "You see Sam?"

She shook her head. "I haven't heard anything."

There was an explosion of sound as a flock of birds squawked out of the nearby trees, wheeling up and over the forest tops. Dean followed them for a moment. "It did that last time."

Angela wrinkled her nose. "I think it's coming."

"And fast," Dean said. He could feel the adrenaline start to pulse through his system. "Go that way."

* * *

Sam swallowed, hunching low to the ground and moving closer to the mass. It was large—much larger than he'd imagined. He kept his finger to the trigger, trying to make it out.

The thing turned; he squinted, absorbing the large mound as it rolled and shifted before him.

_What is it?_

A twig snapped beneath his feet.

He froze, holding his breath.

The thing turned; he heard a huff, and something that sounded like a growl, as it bobbed in his direction. It shifted, pressing through the trees, drawing closer.

He backed away slowly, trying to keep low to the ground. He thought he could make out a huge quantity of black hair. The head hadn't turned to him; he couldn't see where the eyes were.

He continued to move back as the thing stalked slowly around the area where he was, making a chuffing sound. Its noisy breathing filled the air in between the trees. He felt a shiver trickle down his spin. The shotgun shook a little in his hands.

From everything he could see, the thing was massive.

There was a glimmer of red light as it swung around.

_Eyes…_

A passing cloud covered the night sky, blotting out the already dim starlight. He gasped a little, trying to keep still.

The creature stopped moving. It let out a small clicking sound, circling until it was almost directly in from of Sam, right in front of the path he'd come from. It surveyed the area one more time, then snorted.

And tore off through the trees.

Sam watched in surprise as it took off, his heart pounding like crazy. _What the hell…_

It had had every opportunity to take him out, if it wanted. Whatever it was, it was impossibly large. He wasn't even sure if the shotgun would have stopped it.

_Why didn't it attack?_

It had moved south, toward where he'd come from. Where Dean and Angela were still scouting.

He frowned. Something didn't feel right.

Sam walked cautiously back down the path, trying to figure the creature's movements. It had obviously been closer to them when they split up. It had followed him up here, and then—let him go?

_No. That's ridiculous. _

"_You gotta pay attention, Sammy," his father said. "They're not always gonna attack. If they're smart, they've got a plan. They're gonna do exactly what you do, only better."_

His breath caught. _We did exactly what it wanted us to._

"Sh—" he took off through the forest, pulling out a .45, following the creature southward and cursing himself for missing what was now perfectly obvious.

* * *

Dean kept his pistol raised, surveying the area. He could hear a soft thumping—something coming from the north, pounding towards them.

"Go," he said softly to Angela.

She nodded, skittering to the side and through the trees to the east. He followed behind, keeping his pistol tucked tightly between his two hands.

The clacking noise came erratically, sometimes loud, sometimes softer, but always behind them. Angela turned one way, then the other, leaping roots, dirt mounds and stray logs.

The sound of the clacking was on their left. Dean careened over to the right, trying to stay abreast of it. He slid down a soft dirt mound. Angela followed, keeping her rifle raised high.

Suddenly it was to their right. He glanced over at her. She widened her eyes in confusion, and took off to the left, heading northwards.

They reached an area sheltered by a large pine; Angela backed into the shadow of the trunk and reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him to it. Dean flattened himself against the tree, pistol raised and ready to fire.

"What the hell's going on?" he panted.

"I don't know. It's chasing us, but…" she swallowed, bending over slightly. Her voice was shaky. "Do you hear it?"

"No, I…"

A gun fired somewhere in the darkness.

He couldn't hear the creature, now, though the scent of it was everywhere.

_It's picked another target._

_Sam._


	8. Nahual

Sam tore down the path between the trees, trying to keep the creature in sight. It was large, but incredibly fast, and the stench of it clogged up the air, making it hard for him to breath.

He hadn't gotten a good look, but he could see enough of it to know that it was enormous.

And heading straight for the area where Dean and Angela were scouting.

_I can't believe I couldn't see it sooner! It did this on purpose!_

The creature drew to a halt. Sam skidded to a stop, raising his shotgun, and fired, then pumped the shotgun and fired again.

It flinched at the sound of the shot, then tore off to the right, making its strange clacking noise.

_Dammit!_

He rose, trying to cut across the uneven ground. The massive creature was far ahead of him now, dodging erratically left and right, focused on something ahead of it, as though it was chasing something.

Sam watched it tear through the brush. Something yanked at his foot, and he stumbled down, cursing at the half-exposed root that had caught his boot. He pulled his foot free, stumbling back to his feet, and tore off, hoping he could reach them in time.

_Dean…_

* * *

"Sam!" Dean was on his feet in an instant, racing towards the echoing gunshots. He could hear Angela's footsteps behind him, her breathing strained as they darted at a breakneck pace through the trees.

"SAM!"

_Where the hell is he?_

Something snarled in the darkness ahead, towards the area of the gunshots.

Dean edged into a clearing, sliding to a halt, the edge of the trees barely visible in the dim light.

Another gunshot echoed to the north of them.

"_Dean!" _The voice was clear but far away, hidden in the thick of the brush ahead of the clearing.

His heart was racing. Sam was somewhere up ahead, but every instinct in him told him not to move into the open space in front of him. He didn't like this.

Angela grasped his arm. He could make out the shape of the rifle she had raised. "Don't move out there—it's a trap," she said softly.

"I know."

He surveyed what he could make out of the area. A dead calm, the nauseating odor pervading the air. An open clearing.

It made sense, suddenly.

Dodging around them without attacking. Corralling them. Keeping them split up.

It was hunting them.

"It went after Sam first," Angela said, mirroring his thoughts. "He was the largest, and assumedly the strongest."

"It lured him away. To keep us separated." Dean glanced down at her. "To get at you."

"I'm the smallest. I'm the weakest."

"If it thinks that, I feel sorry for it."

"Me too."

He surveyed the clearing. "Sam's on the other side. If we stay here he's going to run right into it. Who knows what it'll do if it's trapped between us."

She thought for a moment. "Well, might as well play with this thing on our terms. I'm not much a fan of the stop-drop-and-yell approach anyway."

"Right." He grinned for a moment before growing serious. "Stay with me."

She nodded, bending down beside him, rifle ready to fire.

He crouched low, pistol in his hand, snaking across the open clearing. Angela covered the area in front of him.

Something moved ahead of them, in the shadow of the trees.

Angela stiffened beside him. "Coming!"

The rifle fired as a snarl echoed from the east. Something darted from the trees, a dark shadow dashed across the starlit clearing, strong and yet so agile it made little sound as is ran past. Dean rolled to the side out of reflex; he felt something heavy, wet, brush by him. The smell of it was so pungent it was overwhelming; it took all he could to hold down the nausea.

Angela sunk down beside him, her shirtsleeve to her nose. "I don't think I hit it," she said in a faintly strained voice.

"We have to get out of the open," Dean said.

There was a high pitched roar from the north side of the clearing; Angela whirled around and Dean raised the pistol.

She got off another shot as the creature barreled towards them. He fired, twice.

Red pinpoints were coming at them. There was heat, and a hot breath on his neck, by the side of his face. Something heavy and sharp smashed into his chest, knocking him off his feet. He was flung sideways, tumbling across the clearing, his shoulder slamming hard into the ground.

There was a scream from the far side of the clearing. A female voice.

_Angela…_

He struggled to his feet, the pistol still in his hand, shoulder throbbing. In the near darkness, he could barely make out a large, moving mass, nearly twice his size, roaming near the edge of the clearing. He fired a shot near the creature. It turned, opening its mouth in a low, loud roar.

He drew closer, ignoring the overpowering smell of the thing, trying to find a way around it—some sort of vantage point.

The creature drew up, studying him.

_The damn thing's eyes are red! Freakin' RED!_

The thing set down on its feet, moving a pace or two towards him. There was something unusual about it. It turned its massive, shaggy head, making the clacking sound they'd heard before.

_I'm going to shoot the hell out of that thing._

His trigger finger was frozen.

He tried to flex his hands, but they wouldn't move.

_He_ couldn't move.

Panic raced through him as the thing drew closer, its gaze still on him as he stood, petrified, in the clearing.

Shots fired from the far side. The creature reared up, stretching nearly as tall as he was, and whipped around, darting towards Angela. Dean's body released and he slumped down, his muscles shuddering in uncomfortable spasms.

He could hear Angela's frantic footsteps as she tried to dodge the creature. Gathering control of himself, he stumbled forward, raising the pistol at it as it bit into Angela's upper arm, flinging her backwards, into the center of the clearing. She tumbled across it to the edge of the far woods. The creature growled deep in its throat, making that strange clacking once again. As it moved into the center, the stray clouds blew past, illuminating the area in dewy starlight.

He could see it better now.

It looked like a wolf. A black wolf with bristly black hair. Teeth. Paws abnormally large.

And blood red eyes.

Dean raised his pistol, his arms still shaking. The creature stalked through the clearing towards Angela as she lifted herself from the ground.

Shots rang out from the far side of the forest, hitting the creature in the side. It roared in pain, bearing upward, and darted into the edge of the trees.

Sam was skirting around the left side of the clearing, the shotgun in his hands. He nodded at Dean, the gun raised, his face twisted in disgust. "What the hell is that thing?"

"I don't know," Dean barked, running towards Angela. "But whatever it is, don't look it in the eye. It's got some kind of hypnotic stare."

"Hypnotic stare? Are you kidding me?"

"I sure as hell wasn't having a staring contest!"

"Can we kill it?"

"I don't know, man. We both shot it at least twice, and it doesn't look fazed. We might have the wrong ammunition."

"We should have brought the flamethrower."

"Well, we've got to figure something out, and we can't do it here. We need to get the hell out of this canyon and reassess." Dean skidded down next to Angela. She hadn't gotten to her feet. Her arm was bleeding; blood had already soaked through the thin sleeve of her shirt. Her shoulder looked to be dislocated. She stared at him with dark eyes. "My arm…"

"You'll be fine."  
"I know, you don't have to panic. You need to fix it."

"Your shoulder's dislocated, you know that?"

"Um, I know…that's what you have to _fix_."

He frowned at her. "We're being stalked by a psycho ass werewolf thing and she makes jokes."

"Only when I have to," she panted, trying to sit up. "Can you do it?"

"Sure, I do this all the time."

"Funny," she replied, gritting her teeth as Dean gently prodded her arm, feeling around the joint. Angela flinched.

"Yeah, it's not out all the way. Sam, grab her waist."

"What?"

"Just do it. Hold her still."

She swallowed as Sam grasped her tightly around the waist, his eyes on the edge of the clearing.

Dean took a breath. "You ready?"

She nodded, though her eyes were wide.

"Just…don't hurt me again when it goes back in. I've already been rolled by one scary beast tonight, and I've reached my quota for the day."

"You are really a…"

He pulled gently but forcefully on the arm. She screamed in pain as the joint moved into place.

The thing howled; the sound coursing through the air into the dead calm, stirring up the birds that had taken refuge in the furthest reaches of the trees. Sam released her, jumping to his feet and moving to the center of the space. Waves of nauseating odor pulsed through the forest, causing Dean to bend down, coughing. He could hear Angela throwing up next to him.

"My God," Sam said in a strangled voice. "I've never smelled anything like it."

He tried not to take a breath, and turned back to her. She was shaking, but pulled herself up to a sitting position, holding her injured arm to her chest. It was fixed; at least well enough for her to make it out of the forest.

"You okay?" he asked, as she swallowed heavily, wiping her mouth.

"F-fine. You need to bind it now. I think it dug in pretty deep."

He touched it tenderly. There was a lot of blood, despite only a few bite marks. He ripped strips of his flannel, binding the arm tightly. "That outta do for now."

"Dean," Sam said.

A shadow had moved to trees on the edge of the clearing, directly across from them. He pulled her to her feet; she moved behind them as they raised their guns.

The wolf-like beast darted from the shadow of the trees, straight towards Sam. He fired, but it didn't slow.

The trigger clicked through the empty chamber.

"Sam! MOVE!" Dean whirled to the right, dragging Angela behind him.

Sam dropped to his feet, rolling to the left as the creature pounded past him, its feet skidding it to a halt a few paces from them. Angela backed up behind Dean as Sam fumbled in his jacket for another clip.

Sam turned, locking eyes with the creature. It fixed its gaze on him, pausing for a moment to study him.

_Dammit Sammy, don't look directly at it!_

Sam froze, transfixed on the creature's face.

"DAMMIT!" He started towards his brother. _Dammit! He's going to get us all killed!_

A low howl wafted through the trees. The creature turned, lifting its head, its narrow teeth glimmering. Sam broke from the trance, his gun falling to the ground, and took a few wobbly steps backwards.

There was the low sound of panting, and a rustle of leaves from the eastern side of the wood. Silver light burst through the trees. Something large swished past them, clearing the air, charging the beast in front of him. It landed on the creature, tearing at the large head with its mouth.

_What the hell…another…wolf?_

A silver-maned wolf rolled to its feet, facing the black creature with a snarl. It was almost beautiful, silvery-brown and nearly as large as a man. It set itself across from the other, pausing a moment before springing forward, onto the beast. The massive pair wrestled, snarling and biting around the far side of the clearing.

Sam was suddenly beside him.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I…"

"We don't have time for this, boys," he heard a magazine being clicked into place. Angela shoved the shotgun into Sam's hand with her good arm, her injured one cradled against her stomach. "I strongly suggest we use the opportunity to get out of here, a-sap."

The creatures tore apart, squaring off in a circle. As the black beast rounded it caught sight of them.

They didn't bother to wait to see what it would do. Dean turned to fire a few quick rounds at it; he heard, rather than saw, Sam fire beside him as they ducked into the forest, skirting as quickly as they could through the dense brush.

There was a roar, and the sound of impact, followed by a loud whine.

He hoped to God it wasn't the silver wolf. He skidded to a halt after a few moments, listening. Sam emerged from the trees just behind him. "I hit it, but it didn't stop."

"The wolf?" Angela panted.

Sam gave her a wary stare.

A breeze blew through the trees, wafting the horrid stink of the beast towards them. It was drawing closer.

_No. _

Sam stiffened, raising the shotgun, closing rank between him, the trees, and Angela.

The thing came low, fast, tearing through the trees at an impossible speed. It had its eyes locked on them. Dean swallowed, his pistol raised, trying not to look at it.

The creature slid to a halt, opening its maw. The stench of it was everywhere. He could barely concentrate, and the urge to vomit was incredible.

His mind spun as he tried to think of a way out of the situation. In all the times they'd been captured, or held, this was never a scenario he'd imagined. Or even begun to imagine.

It sprang as Sam unleashed a few rounds towards it.

With a low-throated growl, the silver wolf charged from the trees, knocking the thing to the side. It snatched at the beast's neck, locking its jaws.

The other creature howled, the hollow cry echoing through the air. Dean didn't bother to fire, just grasped Angela's hand, yanking her behind him, and bolted. He could hear Sam pacing behind him.

A few minutes later she stumbled to her knees.

"I'm…sorry…" she panted. Her face was incredibly pale. The binding on her arm had soaked through with blood and sweat.

Sam skidded to a stop beside him. "I'll take her."

"I need you to cover," Dean said, bending down to her.

"You can't run like that, and you need to get the keys out and start up the car," Sam cried. He held out the shotgun. "I'm faster than you are and I can carry her on my back. Now give me the .45!"

Angela didn't give him time to protest. She snatched the pistol weakly out of Dean's hand with her good arm and swung to her feet. "Do what he says. I'll cover you."

Sam bent down enough for her to clamber on his back, gritting her teeth as her shoulder was jostled in the movement.

She tossed the gun to him as they took off, Sam jogging at a decent pace. Dean reached around his belt for his knife, keeping a hand on it as the canyon rose up before them, the tops of the ridges cutting through darkness.

The narrow opening was before them. Dean raced ahead, conscious of the silence in the trees. Birds were flying overhead from behind them, darting here and there, reaching for the safety of higher branches.

It was coming again. Fast.

They reached the bridge, clattering across it as it shook violently beneath them. When they reached the soft dirt on the other side Dean took off at a breakneck pace, outstripping Sam quickly and fumbling in his pocket for the keys.

The Impala sat, untouched, in the center of the circle at the end of the road. He raced to it, opening the passenger's side and back doors before sliding over the hood and unlocking the driver's side.

He'd cranked it as Sam emerged from the darkness, pausing for a minute to figure what to do next. There was no easy way to get Angela in without hurting her.

"Get in," she whispered. "Put me down and get in."

"Angela," Sam said. "I'm not leaving you."

"Don't be an idiot, Sam. Put me down so you don't tear up my shoulder trying to help me. I can manage on my own."

"Whatever the two of you are doing, hurry up with it!" Dean shouted.

Sam pursed his lips, but didn't hesitate. He set her down, climbing in the back as Angela slid weakly into the front. Dean reached over her to slam the door shut, and shifted into Reverse.

The Impala's lights cut through the darkness, illuminating a shadow at the edge of the ridge. The great creature, red eyes shining in the glow of the headlights, bared its teeth, and tore towards them.

"DEAN!"

He slammed on the gas, reversing the car away from the beast, and whipped around, throwing it into DRIVE. With a screech the car planed across the soft dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

The car hung for a split second, wheels spinning.

It took off as the creature lunged, hitting the back end of the trunk. He heard the thump of the paws, felt the weight of it as it tried to bear down on them.

He slammed the pedal to the floor.

The Impala finally engaged, wheels throwing up rocks and silt. The thing tumbled off, and the car squealed to full speed, leaving the beast, the canyon, and the darkness behind them.


	9. Heal?

"_Holy _Freakin'_ CRAP!" _Dean leaned his head up against the headrest of the seat, trying to swallow, to catch his breath. His shoulder ached fiercely. "What the hell was that thing?"

Sam leaned up from the back, brushing his damp hair back with his hand. "I have no idea. Whatever it was, it's no Chupacabra."

"Oh, you think?"

"What about the wolf?" Angela asked weakly. "Did you see it? After, I mean?"

Dean shook his head. "No. All I saw was that…that _thing._"

"That was him, wasn't it? The wolf?" asked Sam. "Robert."

She nodded. "He was fully transformed." Her lips trembled. "I have no idea how he managed it. He didn't have the strength…and that God-awful thing…"

Dean glanced sideways at her. "I'm sure he's fine. He let it go when he thought you were out of the way. No use to fight something if you don't need to. He let it go."

She opened her eyes and smiled for a moment. "You sure about…"

Dean glanced at her. Her eyes were fluttering. "Angela?"

Sam sat forward. Her shirt was soaked through at the sleeve. "She's lost a lot of blood. Angie?"

"Angela?"

She opened her eyes. "I don't feel so hot."

"You don't look so hot."

"I take it you're still angry with me, then…"

Sam's grin faded. "I'm not angry."

"That's good, because you're a lot harder to deal with than that thing…at least…at least I can shoot _it_…" Her eyelids fluttered again.

"Hey. Hey," Dean eyed her worriedly. "Stay with us. You, uh, you got any ideas as to what that thing is?"

She swallowed. "Maybe…"

Her head slumped down to her shoulder. Dean glanced back at Sam, who placed a hand on her forehead, the moved it down to her arm, squeezing on the tourniquet, hoping to hold down some of the bleeding. "Come on, Angie…"

The paved highway rose ahead of them, the reflective paint shining in the Impala's headlights. Dean glanced over again, hoping there was enough time. He slammed his foot to the floor as the car rolled onto the asphalt.

* * *

Muffled sounds floated into the blackness. There was someone talking in the distance, the sound muddled, and unclear.

Angela swallowed, shifting her body slightly. Her throat felt incredibly dry.

The blackness began to subside, growing to a gray, dull light that faded and turned into shapes—flickering overheard fluorescents, the sharp edge of a wooden door, the curve of an old television, which played some kind of _telenovela_.

There was a soft, steady beeping coming from the left.

Angela turned towards the sound, her heading pounding at the slight movement.

A heart monitor.

The blistering, white walls of the hospital came into focus. An IV was attached to her arm, feeding from a stand next to the machines she was hooked up to.

She turned back to the right, towards the door. In a somewhat old and rather stiff looking armchair lay Sam Winchester, his tall body sprawled uncomfortably, his head cradled on a makeshift pillow he had made of his jacket.

Dirt and blood were caked on his jeans, and on the t-shirt he had tucked under one arm. Someone had given him a new one, because it looked pristine and white in comparison to his grimy skin and hair.

Memories suddenly flashed through her mind. Of his brother Dean getting thrown across the clearing; of Sam firing at that thing as it charged at them.

Of Roberto, attacking.

_Roberto…_

She sat up quickly, her shoulder burning in response. Waves of pain, disguised by whatever drug they'd given her, flooded through her stomach, causing her to stiffen to soothe the nausea. Her shoulder pulsed, but only a bit; it was constricted tightly; bound to her upper body by a tight sling.

She'd dislocated it. Dislocated, and torn the artery. They'd saved her. Roberto had saved her.

"Roberto," she whispered.

Sam sat up with a start, gazing in her direction and blinking twice before noticing she was awake. "Angie." He pulled up, rubbing his face. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Did you find him?" she asked hoarsely. "Roberto?"

He swallowed, searching for something to say. He hadn't changed much since his college days, whatever he might think. He was still sensitive, still wanting to see the good in everything.

"Dean's looking for him," he said finally. "He went to your house this morning, didn't find anything. So…he went back to the canyon to look."

"With that…_thing_ on the loose?"

"We didn't think it would be out during the daytime. Just the fact that it only attacks at night."

"That's not very good evidence."

"You're telling me," he sniffed, frustration creeping into his voice. "But Dean _had_ to go and find Robert, and…"

"You wanted to stay here and keep an eye on me. Thank you."

He raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing them. Weariness crept onto his face.

"What did you tell them happened?" she asked quietly, gesturing to the hospital staff.

"Something about getting lost in the canyon, I think. I wasn't really paying attention. Dean gave them the story."

She smiled. "Thank you, Sam…for worrying about me. Even after everything."

"You're my friend, before anything else. Took me a while to remember that."

"It sure did."

He grinned. "You now really do sound like Dean."

She snorted. "Yeah, well now that I think about it, that may not be much of a good thing."

"Probably not."

"Well…you've done _your_ part, I guess. Now go back to my house and take a shower. You look like you need it."

"Thanks."

"Not that the grimy, just-got-back-from-a-dangerous-hunt look doesn't suit you."

"Of course," he grinned for a moment, then grew serious. "I'm sure he's fine. Your brother. Dean'll find him."

She took a breath. "I know he will. Roberto's hard to kill."

"I'm sure he is." He paused, his eyes glazing over a little bit, lost in some faraway thought. It wasn't a stretch to imagine what he was concerned about.

"So is Dean, Sam."

"Mm?"

"Hard to kill."

He looked over at her, snapping back to attention. "I know."

She watched him as he moved towards the door. "Hey…"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"And Sam?"

"Yes?"

"Tell that brother of yours not to do anything to my brother, or he'll—pardon my expression—have hell to pay."

* * *

Dean swallowed, keeping his gun raised. He wished he hadn't argued with Sam so much about his staying behind. Sam had wanted to come, but he was torn about leaving Angela. Dean had insisted he stay, to watch out for his friend.

He was beginning to regret that. Even _if _the creature wouldn't come out during the day—which had been a hypothetical guess—the idea of wandering back into the remote canyon, alone, didn't seem so intelligent now that he was here.

He could trace the path they'd followed pretty easily—it was a tangle of broken branches and scattered leaves, with blood smeared here and there.

It had been a while since they'd been that panicked, when Angela was hurt. There had been many people injured, even killed, working the jobs they worked, but she was different—a friend. He'd driven as fast as he could, trying to get to the hospital; by the time they arrived it was all he could do to keep Sam from hauling her onto an operating table himself.

Thankfully, she was a fighter. _No black devil wolf thing was going to take her down. Not like that._

He smiled, shaking his head. _I act like I know how she'd think. _

_Maybe I do._

It was for exactly that reason he was out here, risking his neck for a shapeshifter. She would go crazy not knowing where he was. He knew she would, because he would feel the same way if he didn't know where Sam was. He _had _felt that way—more than once.

There were times, he'd sensed, that she had the same sort of problems with her brother he had with Sam. He could never pretend to understand what Sam was thinking; especially now. He could say everything humanly possible to keep Sam sane, do everything he could to protect him, but the truth was, he had to rely on Sam to let him.

Robert was the same way. Angela could try and protect him, but in the end, his instinct dominated everything, and they had to learn to live with that.

_Is that what I'll have to live with?_ At least Angela knew Robert was good. That the instinct wasn't driving him to madness.

_What about Sam?_

He shoved the thought aside, focusing more intently on the path in front of him. He didn't need to think about Sam's problems right now. He had a much bigger, much larger, and much smellier problem to deal with.

_God, I hope that kid's alright. _

He had no idea how much damage the wolf had taken during his fight with the creature. He hadn't been at Angela's house that morning, which was where Dean expected to find him if he wasn't hurt. Which meant he was still out here, somewhere, probably injured, maybe half-transformed, and definitely an easy target.

He passed through the gorge, moving cautiously. The stench of the creature lingered, but it wasn't fresh. He kept the shotgun raised. No point in taking chances.

The forest on the other side looked different in the daylight, sparsely vegetated and nowhere near as treacherous. He could hear the waters of the lake rolling on the other side of the mesa. The hill itself looked like it could be climbed pretty easily. Everything around here was low. How had that creature managed to hide for so long?

He stopped for a moment, surveying the tracks on the ground. Two, sometimes three sets of human footprints—paw marks—paws so freakin' big they looked like _hooves_—and the smaller prints of a wolf.

Dean concentrated on the wolf marks, following them back around towards the crevasse. There was blood alongside them. Where the creature's marks trailed into the canyon, the paw prints faltered, trailing alongside the mesa's ridge, around the backside. He followed their path, heart pounding.

As the backside of the mesa planed down, he could hear the river winding nearby, covered with lush vegetation. The footprints sank deeply into the sand, moving towards the water. The blood spots grew larger.

He finally spotted the creature along the riverbank, buried beneath a tangle of brambles that arched over the river's edge. It was panting heavily, but hadn't transformed back yet. It was a full-on wolf, with a thick coat of silver-brown hair, only the strange, tilted eyes making it at all familiar.

"Hey," Dean said softly, shoving the hanging brambles aside. "Rob."

The wolf snarled deep in its throat, unable to lift its head. It blinked, the body shuddering for a moment.

Dean knelt down, surveying it. It was much larger than a normal wolf. Near its underside, the hair was matted with blood. He reached out a hand and the wolf growled, jerking its legs and body upwards, but unable to stand.

"Hey, dude, it's me." He frowned. It felt weird talking to a wolf.

The wolf's eyes fluttered closed. He reached out and laid a hand on the silver fur. The wolf growled again, but didn't flinch at his touch.

"You doing okay? Damn..." he felt down towards where the hair was matted. "You sure know how to pick a fight."

The wolf bared its teeth.

"Yeah, okay, I'll cut the bad jokes. At least you understand me, that's something."

Suddenly the wolf whimpered, its body shaking uncontrollably, the limbs elongating slightly. Dean frowned. "Hey—none of that, you got it? You need to hang on there. Let me get you back to town."

The creature shuddered again, the hair on his coat tinting to a brownish color.

"Okay, just…" Dean ran a hand over his head. "…just try to hold, Roberto. _Basta_. I'm going to get you back to town. But no shifting, okay? Your sister'll kill me if anything happens to you and I'd rather deal with that monster again than with her, got it?"

It whined in response.

Dean nodded, slinging his rifle around his shoulder, and bent down, lifting the creature in his arms. It was huge, nearly as large as he was, though it was surprisingly light, considering the size. The wolf snarled, shaking a bit as he lifted it, but settled as soon as he had a grip on it.

The exposed underside had a large gash in it, with bite marks around the wound. The cut was deep, and jagged.

He swallowed. "Hang in there, kid." He started back slowly down the riverbank, past the ridge of the mesa, hoping that whatever had caused last night's chaos would stay hidden until nightfall.

* * *

Sam rubbed down his wet hair, letting the warm air of the living room hit his slightly damp face.

Dean hadn't returned yet. More annoying, he hadn't called, though Sam had left about five messages on his phone.

Angela had called, to let him know she was being released in the afternoon. She hadn't asked about her brother, knowing perfectly well that if he had any information, he'd be sure to share it with her. There had been an uncomfortable silence at the end of the conversation.

She was tense and strained on the phone, with an obvious attempt at calm that made her sound harsher than usual. He could imagine the look on her face.

If Dean was anything like that when he disappeared, he felt sorry for people on the receiving end. And Dean didn't have Angela's personality.

As though in response, Sam's phone beeped. He checked the screen.

_Dean._

"Where the hell have you been?" Sam snapped as he clicked on the phone. "Did you forget how to answer the phone?"

"Whoa. Chill out there, spaz. I got your messages, but it's kinda hard to pick up when you're hauling an eighty pound wolf-man over rough terrain."

Relief flooded through him. "You found him?"

"Yeah," Dean sounded unenthusiastic over the phone. "He's in pretty bad shape."

"How bad?"

"Well, the wound doesn't look too horrible—but he's shivering and whining like he's in pain. I think he's pretty weak, Sammy. I don't know if he'll be able to get back to human."

"She said if he stayed like that he could die."

"Yeah. I just…he's still a wolf, more than when we saw him before. It's gotta be murder on him to hold himself together like this. I think you need to call your friend. Is she out of the hospital?"

"She'll be released in a few hours."

"Well, call her up and see if she can get them to bump up the time. I think he'll need her there. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Sam nodded, clicking off, then called up the hospital. He hoped he could get her here in time.

* * *

Dean pulled up the drive behind Angela's house, jumping out and around to the passenger's side as Sam came out of the screen door. He put his hands on his hips as Dean lifted the wolf out of the passenger side, wrapped in a few of the old blankets he generally used to cloak their guns.

Sam gestured to the shed behind the house, and Dean cradled the wolf to him, shuffling to the shed as his brother held open the door. He set the wolf carefully down on its side.

The animal was breathing laboriously, whimpering and trembling. Its hair was soaked through with perspiration, and it shivered periodically. Sam could just barely see the limbs growing and shrinking, the hair shifting color in the dim overhead lights. He was maintaining a wolf form, but losing control of it.

Dean frowned, glancing over at Sam. "Did you get in touch with her?"

"She's trying to get out as fast as she can, but it's still going to take some time," said Sam, kneeling down. "She's not going to be here for an hour at least."

"I don't know if he has that long." Dean ran a hand through his hair, then bent down to the creature. "Robert…can you...are you able to…" he stood. "I'm not good at this. I'm having a conversation with a wolf."

The wolf whined.

"We have to try and do something. We can't just leave him like this."

"What are we going to do? Help him shift? We can't exactly hand him the red mushroom to hope he'll magically transform back into Robert form."

"Angela said he's like a werewolf. If that's the case, it's by his will to shift back."

"Well, his will's in no shape to shift on its own."

"Didn't Angela bind him down to help him?" asked Sam.

"Yeah…"

"Then that's what we have to do."

"I don't know, Sam. I don't think I can hold this thing completely still."

"I'll help you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Why…is that strange or something?"

"No…but you going to be okay with that? I mean, last time, you weren't exactly helpful, and I can't exactly have you flaking out in the middle of everything now. If we're going to do attempt this or force him to do it, we're going to do it right."

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Alright." Dean bent down to the creature, laying a careful hand on the wolf's hide. "Robert…we're going to…" he paused. "_Vamos a…a…ayudarte. Concentrar. Para transformar." _

Sam shook his head, still in disbelief that Dean spoke a lick of Spanish, much less enough to form sentences. "What did you say to him?"

"I hope I told him to concentrate." Dean stroked the wolf on the head, then looked him over, picking a spot near his shoulder, and grabbed him tightly with both hands. Sam moved to the back side of the wolf, careful to avoid the matted fur, and grasped the other limb. He resisted an urge to pat the animal on the head, trying to remember that it was a human man beneath all the fur, not a wild animal. Even with the intelligent, tilted eyes, the wolf still looked more like a helpless creature than a supernatural shapeshifter.

"Hold him tight," Dean whispered. "Alright, buddy. Give it a shot."

The wolf raised its head, eyes rolling around as it shivered their hands. It shut its eyes, and slowly, the snout began to shudder, the bones making a weird creaking sound. Sam frowned, a sudden feeling of panic fluttering through him, as the head bent upwards, the wolf hair curling and sloughing slowly off, with darker, more human hair pressing out between the ears, which drew back and down the side of the head. The entire face trembled and wobbled, nothing staying in place, and the bones of the skull literally rolled around like waves as they shifted from wolf to man.

_This…this is…_

_Horrifying_.

The wolf let out a low howl, and Sam felt the body beneath him begin to bulge, straining against his grasp. He fought the urge to recoil, and instead slackened his hold on the creature as the feet drew down, the soles elongating and flattening out, the claws drawing back onto hairless toes, the muscles bulging as the hair shed.

Dean's eyes were wide, though whether in amazement or horror Sam couldn't tell. But his hands held tightly to Robert, keeping him as still as he could. He was focused completely on the creature and what it was trying to do.

Sam clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look back down. The wolf's body was rolling from side to side, hair flying off in waves now, the shoulders of the creature pushing outward, against his grip, threatening to break it.

Suddenly it stopped, and the creature's eyes flew open. It looked much like it had the first night they saw it, a half-creature, with long gangly legs, and a human-like appearance. It screeched, howling. Sam felt the bile rise in his throat as the cries pierced the air. They were horrible, shrieks of something incredibly in pain. _He can't make it…_

_Mother of God…_

His hands began to shake.

Dean bent down to the thing, releasing his grip on the arm and grabbing it behind the neck. "Come on man, don't give up. _Tratar_…" He tightened his hold around it once more, pressing down on the upper limbs, a worried expression on his face. "Again."

The wolf continued to cry out, shaking from side to side, claws flailing, trying to break away from them. It was a low, pitiful howl, full of exhaustion, and hurt.

"He can't do it," Sam said quietly.

Dean's head snapped up. One look at Sam's face and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't you go soft on me. I need you here, Sam. Don't you dare let go."

"Dean, the thing's in pain!"

"He just needs to try a little harder. Come on, man. Concentrate!" He pressed down on the creature as much as he could, pinning the Nahual beneath his weight to the point where it could barely move. It moaned low, the head hanging limply beneath their arms. It was crying, small, soft shrieks.

"Dean…"

"SHUT UP!" Dean yelled. "We are NOT going to let him die like this. Come on…Try!"

"Dean!"

Dean raised his eyes to Sam's face, the bent down, close to Robert's ear. "Think about your sister. Would she want you to die like this? Would she want you to leave her behind, alone, without anyone? Who's going to take care of her? You have to try."

The creature's voice quieted, the whimpering settling into the back of its throat. The eyes opened again, rolling around and taking in the surroundings, focusing finally on Dean, who was bent over him. It shuddered a final time.

Sam felt the creature's body strain beneath his hands, the limbs once more, but this time the dark tinged skin of Robert began to fill out, the shoulders becoming human, the legs stretching long below them, the hair becoming full and black, and finally the face, drawing in, forming a nose, a mouth, and the strange, tilted eyes, framed by dark eyebrows. The low moan drew into a more high-pitched, humanlike register, and Robert collapsed onto the ground with a huff, his body going limp between them.

Sam let go of the breath he was holding, his hands white-knuckled on Robert's thin arm, shaking. Dean watched the boy's face for a second, eyes wide, before rolling back into a sitting position, pushing himself away a few feet and raising a hand to his face.

The boy in front of them was perfect, human again, and breathing quietly.

The door to the shed swung open, and Angela raced in, her arm in a sling, a terrified expression on her face. She raced to Robert, bending down to place a trembling hand on his forehead.

As his chest rose and fell beneath her, she sighed, releasing her shoulders. She glanced up at Sam, then reached over and drew him into an embrace.

"Thank you," she said shakily. Sam drew her in, holding her tightly, letting the warmth of her body soothe his trembling. She let him go, raising a concerned hand to his face, then turned to Dean, stretching out her free arm.

Dean was watching them, exhaustion, and emotion, on his face. He grabbed her outstretched hand for a second, gripping it tightly.

"Thank you," she said again.

"_De_ _nada_," Dean replied.


	10. Cadejo

They carried Robert back to the house, into his bedroom, and helped her bandage him up, cleaning the wound and dressing it with gauze. In human form, the cut didn't look nearly as bad as it had on the wolf.

"I'm going to have to start charging you for valet," Dean said half-heartedly as he took a seat at the kitchen table. "Seems like all I do is shuttle him to his room."

"How about for vet services, instead?" she replied, her voice as weary as his.

"Does your brother know you make all the dog jokes?"

"Of course. How else would I keep him in his place?"

Sam grabbed the other chair, sitting down as Angela pulled some kind of stew from the refrigerator and placed it in the microwave.

Dean grinned weakly. "Fair enough. How's your arm?"

She sighed. "It's there. I guess I have to thank you two for that. And for going out and finding him." She turned back to him. "Thank you for doing that. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't. And with that thing out there…"

"Hey, did you find anything, by the way?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nope. I mean, I wasn't exactly _looking _if you know what I mean, but I didn't see anything unusual."

"If last night's any indication, you should be thankful for that," Angela said.

"Yeah."

"I just have no idea what that thing could be," she said, as the microwave beeped behind her. She spooned some of the stew into bowls for them. "I spent all this morning going over in my head stuff I know about black wolves, but I haven't stumbled upon anything. I mean, it seems close to the old 'devil dog' of legend, but that's about as close as I get."

"Devil dog?"

"You know…the demon dog, Devil's dog—the creature that forebodes evil, or death, in British folklore."

"Black Dog," said Dean.

"Kinda like the Grim," she replied. Dean turned to Sam, gesturing towards her with a wide smile. She frowned at him. "What? They're good books. In fact, Rowling did base her 'grim' on the black dog of legend—it's called all kinds of things, actually, like gytrash, Old Shuck and the Barghest—and she's not the only author to have done so. Conan Doyle wrote about it in his Sherlock Holmes stories."

"The Hound of the Baskervilles," said Sam.

"Right. The lore is pretty much the same…a black dog with red eyes, appearing only at night. Most called it the 'devil's servant' or the devil's dog. Some think it's a version of a hellhound."

"Black dog is not a hellhound," said Dean. "Definitely different from a hellhound."

"And you know that because…" she trailed off as she caught his expression. "No way. You've _seen _one?"

"Eh, no. Not exactly 'seen' one. But we've dealt with them."

"No," Sam muttered. "_I _dealt with one. You were off kissing demons at the time."

"What?"

"Never mind," Dean said with a cough. "Anyways, this thing isn't a hellhound. This creature's visible—and definitely powerful. Not that the hellhounds weren't, but they couldn't exactly be stopped. I get the sense this thing can. The question is how."

She shook her head as she placed the bowls on the table. The stew was beef and potatoes, and pretty good. "Well, I need to go back to the library. This is going to drive me nuts."

"We'll go with you," volunteered Sam.

"No…you can go with me. He," she gestured at Dean with her spoon, "needs to stay here and sleep. Though if you would shower first, please, you look like Hades."

"Hades?"

"Just shower. And keep an eye on my brother. If you need me, call."

They finished up the stew, Dean rising to take a shower as Sam grabbed Angela's keys. They headed out the door, opting for Angela's truck over the Impala.

Dean checked on Robert a final time before collapsing on the sofa. The kid seemed to be a little better, though his cheeks were sunken in and his skin looked pallid. He closed his eyes, laying an arm over his head, the image of Angela's brother the last thing on his mind before everything went dark.

* * *

Sam gripped the wheel tightly, struggling to keep the old truck under control. It was a lot more difficult to steer than the Impala—of course, he wasn't surprised, considering how much time Dean spent on making that car run like glass.

Angela had her feet propped up on the passenger's side dash, her arm hanging out the window. The Texas air had lost its chill, and the day was balmy and pleasant. She'd opted for them to retry the college library to look for information, to avoid going downtown—next to the sheriff's office—where the public library was located.

"So…hellhounds, huh?" she said, almost inaudibly.

"What?"

She shook her head with a light laugh. "I said 'hellhounds.' You guys have actually fought hellhounds."

"Yeah."

"What else have you come across? Since you went solo?"

He shrugged. "Um…we found a wendigo in the north. Vampires…"

"Sure, that's to be expected."

"…demons…"

"…again, to be expected."

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, a little irritated. "We also took out a shtriga, a few Indian spirits, a wailing woman…"

"La Llorona? You saw La Llorona?"

"Yeah. And we've run across a couple of urban legends—Bloody Mary, the Hook Man, H.H. Holmes. And then there were the reapers."

"Reapers…how did you fight reapers?"

He paused for a moment. "We didn't."

Angela glanced over at him, her voice quiet. "What happened?"

"I don't really know how to explain what happened. The first time we didn't actually fight it, we freed it from servitude. The second time…Dean…"

"Dean dealt with it?"

"No. He was being chased by it."

"Chased? How did he…I mean…reapers are _death._"

"I don't know. Only first, Dean was dying, then, he was fine. And Dad…" he stopped, swallowing.

She sat back, a shadow passing over her face. "Oh."

"Yeah." He sniffed, clearing his throat. "We're not sure what happened. Only that somehow Dean survived when he shouldn't have survived. I know he was being chased by the reaper; I spoke to him when it was happening."

"How did you do that?"

He laughed softly. "Through a Ouiji board."

She laughed with him for a moment.

"Well, anyways, it worked. He told me what was happening. And it just got worse. I really thought he was going to die. But he didn't. He woke up—completely healed. And he didn't remember anything. And then, all of a sudden, Dad…Dad was dead."

"I'm really sorry, Sam."

"So am I."

Angela was silent for a moment. "It's…incredible, really. I mean, I know you two have gone through a lot, but I never expected it to be that much."

"You don't know the half of it."

"I know a little more than you might think," she replied.

"Really."

"Yeah. I've sort of been keeping tabs on you. Just a little. You know, old habits."

He raised an eyebrow. "Right. And how much exactly do you know?"

"Well…I know that Dean is wanted for murder in Missouri; that he was somehow involved in a bank robbery in Milwaukee, and that you've got the Feds on your tail. I know you've been to that roadhouse run by Ellen Harvelle, but you're somewhat ostracized from the hunters' circles because you're suspected in the death of one and the arrest of another, Gordon Walker. Oh yeah, and that you're good friends with the same guy who supplied your Dad's stuff, Bobby."

She turned to him; he stared back, open-mouthed, causing her to smile. "This community is pretty tight knit, Sam. Hunters, suppliers, keepers—and us. Not that you find much networking among people like us, but there are ways. There have to be. We're always in danger, from all sides. So I have to keep track of what people are up to, to make sure they're not threatening Roberto or my position here. Naturally, I was going to run across information about you. I mean, your father was pretty well known, but you two are blazing a trail right behind him."

"Jeez."

"I don't know everything, of course—just what I can find out from my contacts. That's why your laundry list of creatures surprised me—I didn't know about the hunting side of things. Or what it is you're chasing."

"Chasing."

"Yeah. Chasing. First your Dad, and now you guys. You Winchesters always seem to be hunting after something. What is it you're after, Sam?"

He glanced at her again; she was watching him intently, her eyes sharp.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I know you know a lot, Angie, but there are some things I don't really feel like talking about. That's for your own good. And your brother's."

She noted the expression on his face and slumped down further in the seat, shrugging. "Okay. Fine."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. I know when it's useless to push an issue with you."

Sam smiled softly, and turned the truck down a small road, heading towards the college. "So…what about your family? I don't know much about your history, I guess."

"Not much history. We've dealt with the run of the mill things—spirits, ghosts, vamps, stuff like that. A couple here and there that are like this one."

"How? Your family's never left Campeon, have you?"

"No, but…there's this funny sort of 'rule:' supernatural things attract supernatural things. I don't know why, but things come looking for us, even staying put."

He grinned. "If that's the case Dean and I have been going about this the wrong way."

She laughed. "I doubt it. You've done a lot of good. Here we spend more time fighting things off than protecting others. I sometimes wonder why my father chose to keep us in one place rather than trying to hunt like you do. I'm sure he could have saved a lot of lives."

"Maybe he wanted to keep his family intact. Life on the road is hard, especially for kids."

Angela leaned her head back, glancing at him. "Was it really that bad?"

"Sometimes."

"From what I remember of your Dad, he was really something. I've never seen _anyone _stand up to my father like he did. They went head to head like you wouldn't believe. If my Dad hadn't been as strong as he was, I'm sure he would have been killed."

"How did you get the drop on my Dad, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I didn't, really. My father was the distraction. And Roberto. It's not easy facing off against a coyote and a wolf. The girl with the gun behind you isn't your biggest concern."

"Until she shoots you."

"Yeah, well…the gun, anyway. I actually kinda missed. I was aiming for his shoulder."

Sam laughed. "Sounds like you had a pretty good set-up."

"It was. It worked really well."

"What happened?"

The college was drawing up in front of them. She leaned over, using her good arm to wind the window up. "What do you mean?"

"To your family. What happened to your dad?"

Angela leaned back, watching as the college buildings drew closer. "You said there were some things you don't really feel like talking about, right?"

He nodded slowly as she turned back to him. Her eyes had lost some of their customary sparkle. "Well, there are some things I don't really feel like talking about, either."

Sam shuttled the truck into a parking space in front of the library, throwing the old gearshift into PARK. "Okay. Fine," he returned, with a small smile.

Sam's wireless worked at the college—not everything in Campeon was outdated—and he spent the time surfing for information about black dogs while Angela looked up stuff in the library's tiny folklore section.

It took them about two hours. He'd managed to discover everything about the British folklore on black dogs, but nothing seemed to point in the direction of what they'd fought the night before.

It was Angela who came up a few hours later, a book on South American history and legends in hand, and asked him to 'wiki' the word _cadejo._

Not much appeared—just something about a Nicaraguan legend of a type of demon dog—one that could be black or white. The white cadejo was a protector. But the black cadejo, described as a large dog with red eyes that could bind, which made clattering noises and smelled—was called the messenger of the Devil itself. One that attacked visitors at night.

He sat back from his computer as she read over his shoulder. "This almost hits it dead on—but that's really unusual."

"Why? Because usually legends don't hit this closely to the real thing?"

"Yeah, mostly. I mean, I'd almost expect it to be a Grim over this."

"Well, Roberto isn't exactly in a general category," she whispered.

"Not exactly—but he can be classified as a shapeshifter in general. Just one that tailored towards good, not evil. But this thing—this fits _exactly _what's written."

"So…what?"

"So…what's a Nicaraguan beast doing up in South Texas?"

"Good point."

"Well, whatever it's doing up here, it's got to be stopped. And according to this, there are only two ways to kill a cadejo. Providing it's not the actual servant of the Devil."

"Which are?"

He gestured to the article. "A 'regular' cadejo can be killed with a machete slice to the throat. A more powerful cadejo has to be chased away by a white cadejo."

"The white cadejo certainly sounds a bit like a white wolf, doesn't it?"

"May explain why it was uncomfortable when your brother was around. Maybe it doesn't necessarily have to be a white cadejo as a white or silver colored wolf."

"Well, whether that's true or not, there's no going out with Roberto anymore. He's staying at home if I have to leash him to the wall. I think we need to focus on the machete."

He turned to look at her. "Seriously?"

She shrugged. "What other choice do we have?"

"That's easy for you to say. You're not going to be out there trying to stick a twelve inch knife into that thing."

"Says who?"

He closed his laptop. "Says me. And Dean, when he finds out about it. And you, because you know that's a really stupid idea."

She pursed her lips. "Yeah, it is. But I can't let you two go out there and face that thing alone. I mean, this is my town. My town, my problem."

"Well, lucky for you Dean and I don't work like that. We'll figure something out. Don't worry."

* * *

"Are you serious?" Dean asked, staring between them with a wide-eyed expression. "A _machete_?"

"We've survived worse than this," Sam said. "We can figure something out."

"You did see that thing while you were out there last night, didn't you Sam? I mean, you did _see _it."

"Well, no one said it was going to be easy."

"No one said it was going to be suicide, either. How the hell are we supposed to slit that thing's throat with a machete?"

"We need a game plan," Angela said. "That's the only way one of us is going to be able to get close enough to do what needs to be done."

"One of _us_?" Dean said, rising from the chair he'd been straddling. "You mean, one of _us._" He gestured between he and Sam.

"You're just assuming I can't help."

He gave her a wan look, and tapped on her injured arm. She grimaced in pain.

"I'm not assuming anything, Rambo."

"I can still put you in a hammerlock," she said through gritted teeth.

"And while I don't doubt that," Dean said calmly, "it does mean you can't be shouldering rifles and rolling under huge stinky beasts. Which means it's down to the two of us figuring out a game plan."

"Just because my arm's injured doesn't mean my mind doesn't work. I can still help you come up with a plan."

"Fine. You can help with 'the plan'. Just don't expect to be riding shotgun on this."

"I'm not."

"Anytime you two would like to try and figure this out," Sam said, tossing up a casual hand. "If we're going to do anything, it needs to start soon. That thing could draw closer to the town any day now. It's already come out of the mesa area and towards the main roads."

"Right. But that still leaves the problem of slitting its throat—with a _machete_."

"What if we—you—try and incapacitate it, somehow? You know, with a tranquilizer or gas?"

"We tried to 'incapacitate' it last night with real bullets and that didn't seem to work."

"Well, maybe the hide's impenetrable to certain types of bullets. Like a werewolf. That doesn't mean a tranquilizer won't work."

"And how exactly are we going to get close enough to shoot it with a tranquilizer?"

"By using someone as bait to lure it out."

Sam and Dean stared at her for a moment.

"Not me. One of you guys."

"Oh. Well, thanks for that."

"You said I couldn't. Who else is going to run in front of it?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond.

"She's right," interrupted Sam. "It may be our only option. There doesn't have to be three of us. If we set up on one side of the bridge during the daylight, one of us can go into the ridge and try and lure it out. It obviously comes out that far if it's tempted enough."

"Okay, say I buy that crazy idea for a minute. Who sets up, and who's the bait?"

"Well," said Sam, with a half-smile, "whoever runs faster?"

* * *

Dean rolled to the side, kicking off the old-fashioned crocheted blanket. He missed the chill from a few nights ago.

_Damn Texas. Hot even when it's supposed to be cold._

He'd ended up back on Angela's couch, after she insisted they get their stuff and stay with her for the rest of their time in Campeon. Sam was bunking in the room where Roberto slept, which had two separate beds.

The young man hadn't moved all day, though he looked better than he had in the morning. But he'd not woken up; Angela had told them not to worry about it, but with all that had happened, Dean couldn't help but feel uneasy.

They'd spent the rest of the evening setting down the plan for tomorrow night. Sam, who was faster—and who the beast had apparently _not_ wanted to tangle with earlier—had agreed to try and lure it out of the canyon. Dean, a better shot, would set up close to the narrow steel bridge across the river. The strategy sounded like it could work, but he'd never felt so agitated about a plan in his life. The idea of setting Sam up in front of that—that _thing_—on the raw hope that they could stun it long enough to slash its throat—it seemed dangerous and rash, even for him.

Angela had supplied them with a tranquilizer gun and some medication strong enough to bring down an elephant. "Just in case," she'd murmured.

Apparently, 'supernatural things attract supernatural things' and her family had had to use those darts more than once on creatures passing through town. That concept blew his mind—the idea of the shapeshifter, or the demon, or the vamp, coming to you—it was crazy. But then again, this entire situation was a little crazy.

Sam was getting more used to things, though. He'd finally seemed comfortable with Angela again, smiling and laughing, and even reminiscing about college. They'd reached some kind of understanding over the past few days. He didn't know what it was, but Angela no longer seemed wary, and Sam no longer seemed depressed. Suddenly it was a level playing field again, with two very strong allies in their corner.

Allies that, for now, they couldn't use.

That's what agitated him most at the moment. They had to go back into those woods, in front of that cadejo, or whatever the hell it was called, with nothing but a machete, and without the Nahual or Angela as any significant kind of backup.

There was movement in the back of the house, and the refrigerator light came on. He rolled up into a sitting position.

"You okay?" Angela asked, shuffling down the hall towards him, a water glass in her good hand.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Tomorrow?"

He didn't answer, just ran a hand through his hair.

"Hmm." She tilted her head to the side, looking, for the first time since he'd met her, a little unsure. "Uh…would you like to…you want to clean some gear?"

He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

She shook her head, breaking into a grin. "That sounded like a really bad pick-up line, didn't it?"

He smirked at her. "Yeah. Kinda. But effective."

"Stop it. I should have known better, it sounded stupid in my head before I said it. Look, I know it calms _me _down when I get anxious. I figured you'd be the same way. How else can you ask such a weird question?"

"You don't. You just admit it—you want to be alone together."

"Whatever. You are as bad as Sam said. He warned me about you, you know."

"Really? Wish he'd warned me about _you_."

"Well, on that he could have done with a warning himself," she said, still grinning, and gestured behind her. "There's a shed out back we use. Third one down the property, in the corner. It's got everything you need; all you'll need is the equipment. I'll meet you in ten."

He watched her head outside, then pulled on his jeans and gathered some of the weapons from the Impala, along with the few they'd brought with them the night before. There was a small, weather-beaten shed seated far in the back of the property.

She had an overhead light turned on, and was slowly disassembling one of her rifles. He glanced around, laying his own stuff down on the large wood block table. The walls were lined with tools and gadgets, complicated and complex, but looking no different than a standard garage. To the undiscerning eye, it was nothing more than a typical storage shed.

The table showed it was anything but. There were a number of weapons laid out in front of him—almost as many as they kept stored in the Impala, but with a little more variety and a some expensive bells and whistles.

She had put down oil, cloths, rods for cleaning, polish and powder. He positioned himself across from her, setting to work quickly, disassembling, oiling and cleaning, polishing, reassembling. Angela was focused on her work, cleaning much more slowly than Dean, but being meticulous. Fifteen minutes passed in silence, with only the rhythmic constructing and dismantling filling the silence. It brought a sense of comfort he'd craved for a while.

A piece of her hair fell forward, into her face, and she clucked her tongue, shoving it aside with an oily hand. It came forward again, and she sighed, rubbing her hand on a towel and snatching a rubber band from the table. She tried to pull it up three times one-handed before he shook his head, laying down the pistol he was holding.

"Here."

She frowned for a moment, then handed him the band. He gathered her hair up quickly and snapped the band around it, away from her face. When she turned back, she gave him a grin. "Hey, you're pretty good at that."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out a rubber band."

"You'd be surprised. My brother's useless at those kinds of things."

He shrugged. "Sam's better at them than me. He's kinda girly that way."

She laughed lightly, picking up a rag, and began wiping down a rifle. "Poor Sam."

Dean paused, glancing up at her, the sense of comfort and familiarity dissolving. She was still smiling, but the expression in her eyes had changed—hardened somehow—at the mention of Sam's name.

He sighed, laying the gun back on the table. "What?"

"I didn't say any… "

"Please. Out with it."

The smile dimmed just a bit. "Well…how is Sam these days?"

"Nice try. What you mean is, what's _wrong_ with Sam these days."

She met his gaze, but continued calmly with her polishing. "I didn't ask that."

"You didn't have to." He straightened, grabbing another gun, and forced a grin. "Nothing's wrong with Sam. Other than the fact that he lost his girlfriend and his father in the last year. He's tired, and stubborn, and angry at the world. That's what's wrong with Sam these days."

A shadow passed across her face. "If you're going to play at being up front about it, you might as well not lie. I knew Sam for almost two years. He's changed, and there's more to it than just Jessica and your Dad."

"Of course he's changed. Living this life would change anybody."

"Will you stop with the 'almighty hunters' act? I told you—I _knew _Sam. I know something's wrong with him, and I know you're trying to cover it up for him. I can see it in your eyes. You make the same face I do whenever I get the 'what's up with your brother' question."

He turned away, clenching his jaw. She was way too close for comfort.

"I know your father's death had an impact on him. I know Jessica's death did too. But whatever he's shouldering now, that's what's changed him. What happened to him?"

"You want to do this your way? Fine. We'll do it your way. I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, raising his eyes to hers. _I don't like this, not being able to lie._ He felt like a safety net had been pulled out from under him. "That's the truth. I don't want to talk about it."

There was silence for a moment. He glanced down at the pistol in his hand, fumbling with the clip, waiting for the hailstorm.

Something was lifted from the table; there was the sound of bullets being gathered and the slow 'rat-chat-chat' of metal clinking. "Fine."

He looked up in disbelief, a little stunned. It was not what he'd expected to hear, even from her. "What did you say?"

"I said 'fine.' You don't have to say anything."

"That's it? Just 'fine?' No 'whys', no 'how comes', just 'fine'?"

"Just 'fine.' That's it." She frowned at the expression on his face. "Why? Were you wanting the third degree?"

"No."

"Then…" she flipped her pistol out. "Fine." She waited a moment, and when he didn't say anything else, picked up the rag, returning to her cleaning.

For some reason, that aggravated him even more. He popped out the clip, checking the bullets, and slammed the cartridge back in sharply. _Dammit, I've never met someone like her before. I don't know how to act. It's like…_

She was focused on her work, a slight pout to her lips, her eyes narrowed. Irritated with him. Irritated, but considerate enough not to ask any more questions. Stubborn, but respectful.

He knew the feeling.

_It's like looking in a freakin' mirror, that's what._

"You get this?" he asked suddenly, gesturing back and forth between them. "This…thing?"

Angela pursed her lips, her expression unchanging. She didn't have to ask what he meant. "The 'vibe' thing, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"No."

"I don't either. It's kinda weird, isn't it?"

"Yeah. And a little scary, at least on my end."

Dean tossed her a look, finishing up the pistol and reaching for one of the shotguns.

"Maybe it's an older sibling thing," she murmured. "Maybe it's a dad thing. Or a training thing. Who knows?" she latched her pistol barrel back in one-handed. "I guess it's not hard to believe we'd think alike. We were raised almost the same way."

"We were raised exactly the same way."

"Yeah. It's still weird, though."

"You're not kidding."

She sighed, her face softening. "I don't know. Maybe we're just 'the unforgiven,' or something."

He stopped, the shotgun half open. "The unforgiven?"

"Yeah, 'The Unforgiven.' It's..."

"Metallica."

"Yeah. You know it?"

"Metallica? Nope, not at all."

He managed a straight face for a moment, then smirked at her.

"Jerk," she replied, throwing a cloth at him, grinning.

"So," he said, keeping the cloth and wiping down the gun with a half-smile, "what makes you think you're unforgiven?"

The good-natured grin faded, though her eyes maintained their sparkle. "I don't know. There's something about the way it goes. It fits, I guess."

Dean paused, considering for a moment. "The unforgiven, huh?"

"Yeah."

He returned to the shotgun in front of him. "Yeah."

* * *

Sam made his way through the small living room of Angela's house, walking quietly past the sofa, where Dean was curled up, still sleeping. He wore his jeans, which meant he'd been up sometime last night. Doing what, Sam wouldn't even venture to guess.

Angela wasn't up, either, but it was still early. Considering what had happened to her brother, he wasn't surprised that she was exhausted.

He cracked open the lightweight wood, slipping past the screen door and onto the cement porch. The sunlight was bright, and the air was warmer than the day before.

"Hi."

Sam jumped, turning around. "Robert…Roberto. Hey, man…how are you feeling?"

"Better than I have in a while, I guess." The Nahual was seated in a rocker, a blanket pulled around him despite the warmth of the dawn. "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"You weren't hurt by that monster?"

"No. You got us out of there before anything really nasty happened. Thanks, man."

A smile flickered across the young man's sunken face. "Sure. Thanks for taking care of my sister."

"You're welcome. Anytime." He sat down on the stoop, watching as an old truck rolled across the asphalt street.

"I don't usually have to worry about her…but sometimes she's just too stubborn for her own good. She does risky and unnecessary things." He finally glanced down at Sam, his face pale. "This is a good thing for her, you know. To have you and your brother here. She needs people she can talk to."

"She can't talk to you?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly. It's not the same."

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam lifting his face to catch some of the early sunlight as it broke over the house.

"I never thought it would get to this point," Robert said suddenly. "I'd hoped we'd be stronger or better by the time we faced something like this. We wanted very much to live up to what our father wanted and expected of us. It's _un_ _poquito_ _deficil_ to realize we're not even close."

Sam didn't answer him immediately, watching the soft wind blow across the front yard, shaking the long braches of the old oak in the corner. "I guess I can understand that. About wanting to live up to something. In a way this has been good for us, too," he replied finally.

"Are you glad you found out? About Angie?"

"Yeah…I am."

"Why?"

He thought for a moment. "Because it means I'm not alone."

"Alone? Alone in what?"

He turned towards him. "In…a lot of things."

Robert observed him with his strange gaze. "I guess you're not."

"If anyone had ever told me I'd end up here, though…"

"You'd never have believed it? Nobody would, who knew Angie. No one ever suspects a thing."

"Dean did."

"He did?" Robert raised an eyebrow. "Your brother was suspicious?"

Sam laughed lightly. "Yeah. From the very beginning. She of him, too. It felt a little like 'spy versus spy'."

For the first time since they'd met, Robert laughed. "One drops a cannonball, the other drops a house?"

"Something like that."

"Well, he did better than most, I'll give him that."

Sam turned. "Yeah. Dean has an instinct for those sorts of things."

"What do I have an instinct for?"

He turned to find Dean standing just inside the screen door, staring at the both of them with a sleepy gaze.

"Getting dropped in the dirt by a girl," Sam said quietly, but with a grin.

Dean threw him a nasty look, then popped the door open, walking out onto the porch. "How you feelin, Rob? No need to stretch your legs, take a little canter out there or anything?"

Robert started, his eyes darting around, as if by reflex. "No. Don't talk so loudly. We have nosy neighbors."

The older Winchester raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the completely empty street. With the exception of far off traffic, the only noise was the early morning chirping of crickets. "Really."

"You'd be surprised." He rolled out of the chair, standing unsteadily for a moment. "I'm going to put on some coffee and eggs. You want any?"

Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded, his customary expression of acceptance. "Only if you got some tortillas."

"This _is_ South Texas. Just don't ask me to make them, that's Angelita's line."

Sam laughed softly as the young man went into the house, closing the screen door behind him. His brother moved to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the spindly supports and taking in a breath. "Hard to imagine there's something completely evil on the other side of this, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed in, letting the tranquility of the morning settle over him. "It almost feels like it's not a part of the real world."

"That's because the real world left it behind about thirty years ago," Dean said, sitting down on the stoop beside him.

"Well, I hope it stays this way."

They sat for a few moments in silence, absorbing the sun as it rose in the sky. Sam finally looked over at his brother. "Where'd you go last night?"

Dean through him a questioning look. "What?"

"The jeans."

"Oh," Dean glanced down at the pants, which were slightly crumpled from sleeping in. "Nowhere. Out to the garage. I couldn't sleep."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"They have a warehouse back there," Dean replied. "I guess Angela couldn't sleep either, so she set up in there and let me use some of her stuff."

"She has a warehouse?"

"Whole arsenal."

Sam shook his head. "You know, they're basically _us_, without the Impala."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far."

"Dean, they're skilled enough to be hunters, they spend their time warding off the supernatural—they were taught everything they know by their father…and now they're left to defend themselves against a world that's essentially against them. And the brother…they're basically us."

"Except you're not him, Sam."

He looked up into his brother's face.

"I…"

"Whatever you are, it's not _that. _If you try and make it that, you're disrespecting everything he's gone through dealing with what _he_ is. Whatever the hell happened to you, Sam, it doesn't make you like him. He's had to live with what he is his whole life. Whatever happened to you, better or worse, you got something of a normal life before it. It's not the same thing."

Sam swallowed. "And she doesn't have to worry about him, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh, she has to worry about him. But not like I have to worry about you. At least when he goes skittering off she has a twenty mile search radius. You have me running all over the goddamn country."

"Funny. You know what I mean."

Dean's grin faded. "Yes, I know what you mean. And I don't know if she has to worry. But every life is different, no matter how similar it looks. Different problems, different outcomes. You know that." He glanced over at Sam. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to find something to compare it to, Sammy. This isn't it."

Another old truck rolled by, this one full of people. The truck blared its horn, a hand raised from the rolled down window. Sam raised a hand in response. "Would be nice if it was, though, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe."

"Are you two going to enjoy the fresh Texas sunshine forever? Roberto's nearly burned down my kitchen." Angela's sleepy voice rose from behind the screen door, her dark hair tumbling down her shoulders in messy curls.

They turned, gazing up at her through the mesh. She yawned, her face still bearing a sleepy look. Sam looked over at Dean, who had a soft, but wary, grin on his face. _He's thinking the same thing I am—how long had she been standing there?_

She nodded towards the kitchen. "Come on. He's almost done."

"Sure," Sam said, rising. Dean followed, pulling open the door to let his brother inside. She smiled at him, though Sam was certain he could detect a hint of alertness in her dark eyes as he passed by.

* * *

Dean let Sam pass him, watching Angela with narrowed eyes. She gave him a cat-like look in return, then grinned.

"Nosy," he whispered as he went by.

"Paranoid," she shot back.

Her brother was in the kitchen dishing out a few eggs, some ham and coffee for them. They settled around the small table, eating contentedly.

The comfortable setting of the morning lasted for a few moments, until Robert settled back, setting his fork on his place, and fixed his sister with a serious gaze.

"So…what's the game plan for tonight?"

Angela had a fork raised halfway to her mouth. She closed her lips, a shadow crossing her face.

"You can't leave me out of this."

"I can most certainly leave you out of this, Roberto," she snapped. "You're not going."

"I am not going to just sit behind here while you go and put yourself in danger, _again_, to protect this town, _again_. _Dios mio, Angelita!_"

Her fork clinked roughly against her plate. "Don't start with me. This isn't just me this time, and I am not going to run the risk of you dying because you have some grand idea that you should."

"And it's okay for you to?"

"No, no," Dean cut in, leaning forward. "It's not okay for her to, which is why it's not her job to decide who gets to stay and go."

Robert turned his tilted eyes to Dean. "It's yours?"

"Pretty much. Since we're the ones who're going to be fighting and killing that thing."

The young man's face darkened for a moment. "And we're just cut out of it?"

"Believe me, if we had a choice, you wouldn't be cut out of it. I would be ten times more than willing to use you as bait instead of Sam here, and lure that sonavabitch out of his hiding spot and across that bridge. And I'd love for her to be the set up shot. Problem is, you're a few transformations shy of the Pet Sematary, and she's no good to me with a lame arm. So…since we're the ones who'll be doing the actual hunting, we're the ones who'll do the actual deciding—who gets to stay, and who gets to go. You stay. She goes."

"_What_?"

"As a pack mule," Angela muttered to her brother. "I'm not hunting."

"Still…"

"We can't trust you to stay in the car," Sam explained. "You'll be out there, wanting to help—wanting to transform. We can't have you do that if it means your life."

"So…I get to stay at home tapping my fingers while you three risk your lives on my monster."

"_Your_ monster?" Dean scoffed. "What, you call dibs or something?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Sam studied him a moment. "Try us."

Robert glanced over at him. "My father was the leader as far as our family was concerned. When he died, Angela stepped in and tried to take his place, but she can't replace him. Because she's only human. It's my job to take over where he left off."

"Roberto," Angela said softly.

"No! I'm nowhere close to where Papa was. I can't even stop _one_ creature. How am I going to be able to protect people when something stronger comes in to town?"

"Something stronger? You've seen something _stronger_ than this?"

"Roberto—Papa had nearly forty years on you when you were born. Of course he was strong enough to handle everything that came his way. But he learned those techniques—he learned to survive, through perseverance, and intelligence, and training. When situations like this came about he decided how best to handle it—he didn't just throw himself into the fire and hope to come out okay. And if he'd had an opportunity to use allies like them, he would have used them, you can believe that."

"You can't save everything by yourself," Sam said. "You need to be able to rely on others to help you."

"That's how we've stayed alive," said Dean, with a quick glance at Sam. "And it would be a damn shame to waste what you are because you decided to be reckless."

The younger man's nostrils flared, but he didn't say anything. There was silence for a moment.

"Well, since we have _that_ settled," Dean slapped his hands on the table, and stood. "I think I'm going to check on our supplies. In particular, that we have a couple of very sharp, very _long_ machetes."


	11. Chase

Sam spent the rest of the day in an uncomfortable sort of anticipation. Dean passed the hours by checking and re-checking equipment, going over strategies with Sam and Angie, and ensuring everything was cleaned and properly loaded.

He thought he had the entire thing worked out in his mind—where they would set up, how long it would take to get the creature into the gorge—how fast he'd have to run—they'd gone over and over it again, and again.

It didn't stop the flutter of nervousness in his chest.

Robert tried, at various times, to find a way to join the group, but all three were firmly in agreement on that point. Each one of them knew that if he tried to go, he'd somehow end up risking his life unnecessarily. As the sun drew close to setting he ended up in a melancholy in front of the small television, watching his sister prepare equipment with a sour expression.

"Are we ready?" Dean came through the door with his leather jacket, on despite the heat, the collar upturned slightly.

Angela flinched as she jostled her shoulder, but nodded. "Yeah. I think I've got everything here."

"Machete?"

She pulled out a trio of long, thick knives. "Check."

Robert came up behind her, gathering her hair into a messy knot and tying it back.

"Thanks," she said, craning around to look at him.

"Angelita…"

"Please, just…"

He wrapped an arm around her neck. "_No_ _te_ _mueres_, eh? _Nadie_," he added, glancing over at Dean and Sam.

"_Espero__que_ _no_," replied Dean.

She patted her brother's arm, then pulled away from him. "Don't worry, okay? I trust these guys."

Dean flashed him a grin. She caught the expression. "Except maybe him."

"Hey."

"We'll take care of her," said Sam, gathering up the rest of her stuff. He squared his shoulders, glancing at his brother. "You ready?"

Dean nodded at him. "Let's do this."

They gathered into the Impala a few moments later, trundling down the rocky driveway—Dean grimacing all the way—and drove down Los Cruces in the direction of the setting sun.

Sam could see Robert watching them until they turned the corner, his thin silhouette shadowed by a backdrop of blood red sky.

* * *

They reached the canyon at dusk, and began pulling out the equipment for the set-up at the bridge. Angela kept a close watch as they hauled everything out towards the metal span, alert for any change in the wind, smell, or noises of the area.

They worked quickly and efficiently, Dean shedding his coat after a few minutes of hauling gear.

By the time night had settled upon the canyon area, they had everything pretty much ready to go.

There was no sign of the cadejo anywhere. Sam had hoped, in a way, it might venture beyond the canyon, towards the noises. It would save him the trouble of searching through the ridge for it.

Dean tapped his fingers on the tranquilizer rifle uncomfortably, knowing what had to happen next, but reluctant to ask it. Sam took a breath.

"I think I better go ahead and head in."

Dean swallowed. "Yeah…"

Angela handed him a machete, encased in a leather sheath. "If it gets too close, you do what you can."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Right."

His brother watched as he turned towards the bridge. "Hey Sam,"

"Yeah?"

"Don't you try and be the hero, now. You run, that's it, understand?"

"I know."

"I mean it, Sammy. That's ALL you do, you got it?"

"I got it. Don't worry, Dean, I'll be fine."

"Yeah."

He took another breath, and marched forward, across the bridge.

* * *

Dean watched Sam cross the bridge, a knot in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, meditating on the silence around them, then squared his shoulders, and moved towards his position at the end.

Angela was leaning up against one of the thin trees, tapping the knife she'd been keeping for him against her leg.

"You sure your brother's not coming behind us?" Dean asked, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the air. "He's not going to steal the truck and make a grand appearance in the middle of this, is he?

She didn't look at him, just dug in her jeans for a pair of key chains. "Truck keys."

He snorted. "Jeez. I'm glad you're not _my _sister."

"Yeah." Her eyes were dark, focused on ridge in front of them, where they'd last seen Sam. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Who, Sam? Yeah, Sam will be fine."

"You're pretty confident."

He shrugged. "Sam knows how to survive; don't you go worrying about him."

She sighed. "Right."

"You better go back to the car."

She glanced at him, but didn't move.

"Angela…"

"A few more minutes. Until we know he's on his way back."

* * *

Sam trod through the brush, .45 raised, keeping an ear out on the noises of the night around him. Nothing was out of the ordinary, so far. There was no smell, nothing fresh, at least, and no sound of anything coming.

Given how the cadejo had been stalking them a few days ago, there was no telling which part of the forest it made its den. But Sam headed towards the north end, where he'd been before, to see if he could find some sign of a discernable trail.

There was no trace of the cadejo, at least that he could make out.

When he'd gotten too far from the crevice for comfort, he turned back, keeping alert to the sounds around him.

He scouted the south next, near where Angela and Dean had gotten attacked. There wasn't anything amiss here, either. The birds were still calling; he could even hear the sounds of the lake wildlife floating up and over the mesa.

Sam turned back towards the ridge, slightly frustrated.

The wind was howling lightly in front of the opening to the path. He walked back towards it slowly, glancing down the edge of the ridge to where Dean said he'd found the wolf. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary that way, either.

He stood in front of the crevice, taking a breath, and looked around once more. The wind shifted direction, blowing sharply from the east, across the top of the mesa.

The smell reached him all at once, sharp and thick, floating in waves towards him. He whirled around, searching frantically for some sign of the cadejo.

Above him, the birds darted from the trees in a flurry of sound and shadow.

He looked up.

Something was streaking haphazardly through the brush covering the top of Devil's Hoof, right above his head.

He leapt back as the cadejo charged down the mesa, red eyes glimmering, fishtailing down the soft slope. It made its clattering-like growl as it leapt the last ten feet, springing into the air, towards him.

Sam turned, darting into the ridge as fast as he could, leaping over the roots and slick moss, stumbling, crawling out of the ravine; the creature's frantic panting just over his shoulder. His heart was pounding; he could feel the thing's breath on the back of his neck.

He burst from the opening, breathing in the clear air on the riverside, scrambling towards the bridge. When he had footing he turned back, towards the beast, which had made its way out of the crevice and was rushing towards him, teeth bared.

He got off three shots as he turned for the bridge. The cadejo wasn't fazed, just kept coming.

"DEAN!" he shouted, catching sight of the bridge ahead of him. He scrambled for it, almost on all fours, making it and barely hesitating as the bridge's thin metal clattered and trembled beneath him. "DEAN!"

The creature slammed into the bridge supports, rattling it with unbelievable power. Sam grabbed for the rails as it tilted to the side, shaking and wobbling under the force of the blow. He caught his footing and crawled down the last few feet, turning as he stood, waiting.

Dean was in front of him, the tranquilizer gun raised. Angela was in the far shadows, tensed, watching with large eyes as his brother took aim. He turned around behind him, raising the shotgun level.

Nothing was there.

Dean cast about with the gun, looking from one side to the other. The metal of the bridge wobbled and clattered, but the creature wasn't on it. There were no ripples in the water, and they'd heard no splash. Somehow, it had simply vanished.

"What…what the hell just happened?" Sam panted, trying to catch his breath. "It was right behind me!"

"I know, we saw it!" Dean yelled, keeping the rifle raised. "It must have seen me move in with the gun and gone in the water."

"Without making a splash?" Sam shook his head. "I don't like this. This thing isn't just a normal wolf, Dean. It acts like a wendigo or a skinwalker. It's almost human in intelligence."

"No kidding. And twice as strong."

They listened in silence for a moment. Nothing disturbed the nighttime on this side of the riverbank. Angela walked over to them, handing Sam a shotgun.

"You need to go back to the car," Dean said, finally lowering the gun.

"Are you kidding? No way."

"Angela…"

"I'm not being brave. There's no way I'm walking back to the car by myself. That thing could have leapt the river. I'm staying with the guns."

He stared at her for a moment. "Fine. Just…stay close."

She pulled her pistol from the back of her jeans. "Consider me out of the way. I'm no martyr."

Sam stood, pumping the shotgun once to load the chamber. "I have to go back."

"Nope. You're staying here."

"Dean, if it crossed back over…"

"It didn't. It's around here, somewhere by the river. That thing is smart—damn smart—and it's using this as a chance to get the jump on us. You go back and it'll have you drawn and quartered within five minutes."

"Well, what can we do? We can't just stand around here and hope it comes to us. We need to find it and lure it out."

Dean paused for a moment, glancing at Angie. She shrugged her shoulders. "We know it's out of the canyon, but that's all we've got."

"Look…we've pulled it out as far as the river. I'll go back across, you two scout on this end."

His brother stared at him.

"I'll stay on the riverbank."

Dean exhaled, then nodded. "Be careful."

"You too."

He made his way back to the bridge, slowly setting foot on the metal. It was still wobbly, but the cadejo hadn't done any lasting damage. He could see Angela and his brother making their way along the riverbank, guns raised.

He raised his shotgun, and started off across the bridge, covering it in a few quick strides, hoping the cadejo wouldn't decide to drop in again.

* * *

Dean kept careful watch on the shadowy bank near the river's edge, gun raised. Angela stepped close beside him, just as watchful.

Around him, the sounds of the night had died away, though he couldn't tell if it was because of the creature's presence or the sudden appearance it had made a few moments ago. There was a lingering odor nearby, but nothing pungent like they'd smelled a few nights before.

It was watching them. He could feel it.

"I feel like I'm the middle of _Cujo_," Angela hissed.

He made a face to keep her quiet, then leaned in. "Or a Paris Hilton horror flick."

"Please. Don't insult the _cadejo_."

Something snapped behind them; they whirled around, stopping for a moment to listen. Angela glanced at him, wide-eyed. He nodded, motioning them to step back.

The water lapped quietly against the banks. There was nothing in the brush, nothing red or glimmering creeping through the darkness.

Dean took a step back, releasing the tension in his shoulders.

The river exploded behind him.

Angela jumped back as the cadejo leapt from the water, scrambling up the bank towards them. It had reached them before Dean had the chance to move, strong paws, thick as hooves, swiping at him, knocking him backwards.

The rifle was torn from his hands; he fumbled around his belt for where he'd sheathed his machete, but the cadejo had its paws on his chest, bearing down on him. The creature swiped at his face, claws scratching down his face and neck.

He yelled out as the long fangs bit down into his shoulder, tearing into the skin.

There were three rapid bursts of light and the _cadejo_ released him, leaping backwards. Another two and the wolf-thing dashed out of sight, into the darkness of the brush.

Angela bent down over him, machete in her injured arm, which was out of the sling. She fumbled with his shirt, pulling it back past his ripped-up shoulder. "I think I hit it," she said, checking over the bite marks. "It missed the carotid; but it tore you up pretty badly. Can you stand?"

"Yeah." He pulled himself up, his shoulder burning fiercely. "What made it run?"

"I shot at it four or five times…but when I reached for the machete, that's when it took off. Guess these things really do scare it."

She helped him to his feet, her injured arm trembling. He bent down, gathering the rifle. "At least we know it's starting to work," he said weakly, trying to stretch out his shoulder. It hurt like hell.

He fumbled in his pockets, pulling out his phone. "We need to find Sam. Call him, and tell him it's on our side of the river."

* * *

Sam glanced down at the tracks on the dirt edging the river. If what he was seeing was right, the beast had jumped _into _the water.

Which meant it was on Dean's side.

There was a shout somewhere down along the river's edge, to the west. He rose, heading upriver, following the flurry of sound.

Five pops rang out across from him. There was a roar, and suddenly the brush shuddered as something tore through it. He skidded to a halt, squinting through the darkness, hoping to catch sight of the cadejo.

A shadow dashed through the trees across from him. Sam stopped, trying to keep still, finger on the trigger of his shotgun.

The thing continued on, past him, towards the bridge. When the cadejo was out of sight, he glanced down at the dark, murky water.

The shout hadn't been Angela. It had been a male voice.

_Dean…_

Any further downriver and the cadejo could be waiting for him. He scanned the woods for a moment, then reached for his phone, putting it and the shotgun over his head, and waded into the murky water.

It was fast-moving and deep; the current pulled at his body, making it almost impossible to keep the gun and phone above the water. He finally lowered the gun towards the surface, using it to pull himself across. Something skimmed by his legs as he caught his footing; he closed his eyes, letting it pass and not bothering to see what it might have been.

As he clambered up the bank, his phone vibrated.

"Dean," he whispered. "You okay? I heard yelling."

"Angela," replied a female voice. "Dean's been attacked."

"What? Is he all right?"

"He's fine, but Sam, the cadejo's on our side of the river."

"I know…I just saw it. I'm on your side now."

Something crackled nearby.

"Hold on," he murmured, lowering the phone, and reaching for the machete. The gun was more than likely useless now, if the gunpowder had gotten wet.

The noise stopped.

"Sam," came the tinny voice on the phone. "Where are you?"

He lowered himself down, stalking towards the noise.

"Sam?"

"_Sam_."

He stopped, confused, and raised the phone to his ear. "Angie?"

"Here," said a louder voice, off the phone, coming from the direction of the breaking branches. He turned. Angela emerged from behind him, her arm out of her sling, Dean trudging alongside her. Blood stained the front of his t-shirt and his face, and he walked with a slight limp.

"What happened?" Sam asked, coming over to his brother.

"We had a run-in with our stinky little friend," Dean said, pausing to lean up against a tree.

"Are you alright?"

"Sure. Peachy."

"Did you swim across the river?" Angela asked.

"Had to. I saw it pass by; I figured it would be safest that way."

"Safest? Do you have any idea what's in that river? It's crawling with water moccasins."

Sam swallowed. Dean looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Water moccasins? Are you kidding me? Did you get the number of that demon wolf?"

She glared at him.

"Which direction did it head?" Dean asked, ignoring her.

"East. Towards the bridge."

"Right." He pulled himself off from the tree, handing the tranquilizer rifle to Sam. "You're the best shot right now."

They headed slowly towards the east, keeping alert, pausing just a little now and then to let Dean catch his breath. The creature had really torn into his shoulder.

Sam turned to Angela, eyeing her shoulder. "Hadn't you better put that back?"

She smiled, grimacing a little as she moved her shoulder. "Can't. I can't do anything with it constricted. It's fine. It wasn't serious."

"Oh, of course not," said Dean. "Except for the part where you almost _died_."

"Don't be melodramatic," she scoffed.

Dean motioned to her, his face pale, and shook his head. "I'm being melodramatic."

They reached the bridge, circling the little clearing where they'd originally set up. Dean bent down, pausing for a minute.

"You feeling alright?"

"Yeah." He opened his eyes, staring off into the darkness. "Sam…"

"We can do this," Sam said. "We can. Come on. Dad wouldn't want us to give up now."

Dean looked up at him, swallowing. "Oh, he wouldn't, huh?"

"Are you kidding? We've got the advantage. We know what it's afraid of," he motioned to the machete attached to his belt.

Dean snorted. "Of course. Why should I be worried?" He straightened up, flinching a little as he moved his shoulder, and tossed Sam a disbelieving expression. "Easy as pie."

Angela backed up towards them. "Guys…"

The clattering sound, now painfully familiar, echoed through the woods. The odor was back to; filtering through the forest in pungent waves, causing Dean to cough. "God, that's awful."

Sam tightened his grip on the tranquilizer gun, raising it level with his shoulder, holding his breath.

The sound of the creature lingered around them, making the direction nearly impossible to track.

"Where is it?" Dean asked.

Sam glanced to the side, trying to make out one area where the sound was loudest. It came again, rattling through the woods, followed by a fresh wave of scent.

Angela turned, looking worriedly around, her .45 in her good hand, backing up against them.

"WHERE IS IT?" Dean yelled again, whirling around.

Sam was back-to-back with his brother, rifle raised. "I don't know."

The smell of it surrounded them. The woods suddenly grew quiet; not even a breath sounded through the trees.

* * *

Dean turned, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder as he stood back to back with Sam and Angela. The cadejo was coming, he could feel it; his muscles trembled in anticipation.

Sam was steady beside him, his breathing calm, focused. Somehow, he did not seem afraid.

The clattering came from the left; a shadow moved to the right. His eyes darted between the trees, as flashes of red light pierced the darkness.

He moved to the side.

The cadejo emerged in front of him; he fired as it leapt towards them, forcing them apart.

They split in three directions as the creature pounded forward, catching Sam in the chest, knocking him down. The tranquilizer gun fell out of his grasp and skittered across the dirt. Dean gritted his teeth and raced for it.

He rolled down, catching the rifle in his hand, and turned forward, trying to get a good aim on the creature, shoulder screaming in protest. The cadejo turned, jumping towards him, forcing him to roll to the side to avoid another attack. He pulled to his feet, but the beast crouched back on its powerful hind legs and leapt forward, landing near him, slapping him across the back with one tremendous paw. The force of it threw him from his feet, knocking the gun out of his hands.

Shots fired behind him; the creature turned, leaving him, racing towards Angela.

Dean looked up; the rifle was only a few feet in front of him. He scrambled to it.

"DEAN!"

He rolled out of the way just as the cadejo landed where he'd been, baring its incredible fangs at him. He pulled to the side, unable to avoid a backhand from the thing, which hit him in the stomach, sweeping him off the ground and into the air.

His head exploded in pain as he slammed into the thick roots of one of the nearby trees, flashes of white bursting in front of his eyes.

He could hear Sam on his feet again, running towards him. There was the clatter of a rifle being picked up.

The cadejo roared; the sound was like an explosion through the semi-quiet forest. Birds in the nearby treetops screeched in protest, rising into the night sky with a flurry of beating wings.

Sam cried out; Dean opened his eyes, watching in horror as his brother tumbled across the small open space, four lines of scarlet blossoming across the front of his t-shirt and jacket. Sam slowly pulled himself to his feet, grabbing at his chest, staring at the creature that had faced off against him. The tranquilizer gun was behind it, out of reach of either Dean or Angela.

It stalked towards his brother, the sinews of its body flexing beneath the matted black fur. It drew closer to Sam, the stink of it filling the clearing, choking them. Sam turned his head, avoiding the creature's penetrating stare, panting in pain and exhaustion.

Dean pulled to his feet.

Shots rang out once more; Angela stood, pistol raised above her, her eyes narrowed dangerously at the cadejo. The creature turned, the red eyes locking on her, watching her like a cat might a mouse.

It was growing tired of the game.

_Well, dammit, so am I._

He stalked behind it, making his way to the rifle. The creature turned back to him, watching him with its blinding gaze, mouth curling into a low snarl. He turned his head to the side, avoiding the eyes.

Sam rose, pulling out his machete once more. The cadejo sensed the immediate danger, and turned from Angela, towards them.

He raised the rifle. The creature crouched down, snarling.

_If it's smart, there's only one way it can go._

The beast focused on him, ignoring Sam. He felt a sort of helplessness. _Too smart. Too damn smart._

"_Mira_, _vendejo_. _Aqui._" The cadejo snorted as the voice rose from between the trees, turning to the east, where a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. Dean watched in surprise as Robert came forward, a long knife in his hands.

"Roberto," Angela breathed from somewhere nearby.

The young man moved into the clearing, crouched down, his dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

The beast growled, but there was a second of indecision, of hesitation in the creature's movements. Robert was staring it point blank in the face, but for some reason, he wasn't affected by the eyes. The creature turned its head, as though trying to figure out why; distracted, just for a moment.

Dean raised the rifle and fired.

The dart hit the cadejo in the side; it yelped, leaping from its position, and jumped forward, towards the Nahual.

The thin man dodged the attack, whirling around. He turned to face it as it skidded to a halt, turning back towards him. He rolled to the ground, avoiding it once more. Sam backed up to the edge of the clearing, watching, trying to figure out the movements, his knife in hand.

Dean reached into his pocket, loading the rifle with another dart. The cadejo charged at Robert once more, who nimbly avoided the attack, turning to face the much larger beast, which had a hard time keeping its footing against the Nahual's almost superhuman speed.

He raised the rifle, and fired once more.

The dart hit the animal in the neck; it rose up in fury, ignoring Robert and pounding towards him. Dean whirled around, the rifle slipping from his hands, and tried to dodge.

He wasn't as quick as Robert.

The infuriated creature caught him in the back, knocking him forward with unbelievable force. He tried to catch his footing as the ground rushed towards him. There was a distant crack; pain on the side of his head—an unbearable pain.

A burst of light, then darkness.


	12. Death

"DEAN!" Sam darted towards his brother, but the cadejo blocked his path, opening its mouth with a growl. The stench of it became overwhelming. He backed away, glancing frantically behind the cadejo as it stalked around him. Dean was behind it, lying motionless.

_Dean…_

The cadejo suddenly wobbled; the scent tapering just a bit. It backed uncertainly toward Dean's still form.

_The tranquilizers…_

Robert stalked up alongside it, eyes glimmering in the darkness. His hands were shaking, and he was breathing heavily. The strain of fighting with the cadejo had taken a toll on him, even in human form.

The cadejo let out a yelp, trying to keep itself steady.

The high pitched sound threw off the Nahual for a moment; Robert took a step backwards, confused, giving the creature enough time to leap for him, knocking him to the ground.

"NO!" Angela darted forward but stopped herself short, uncertain of what to do. She glanced between her brother and back at Sam, then over at Dean.

Robert slashed up, catching the cadejo in the side with his machete. The creature howled, leaping away from him, hackles raised.

Sam looked towards Dean once more; his brother still hadn't moved. In the semi-darkness, he could just make out a smattering of red staining the rocks beneath him.

_Dean…_

His heart began to pound.

Robert pulled slowly to his feet, trying to catch his breath, and rushed forwards, towards the cadejo. The creature took a desperate step backwards, away from his outstretched knife, and swiped at him.

Angela stalked slowly forward, towards the riverside. She still held her gun in her good hand, her knife abandoned by the river. The cadejo was too focused on Robert, too disoriented to notice her movements.

Shots fired from the left; the cadejo howled as it was struck. The tranquilizers had lowered the creature's defenses, somehow—even real bullets were penetrating. The thing whirled around, desperately pacing towards Angela, who backed out of the way, onto the bridge.

The distraction gave her brother enough time to regain position, dashing in front of her, between the bridge and the beast. He pushed his sister backwards as it leapt at them, just missing the young man's feet as they clambered onto the shaky metal.

The creature was completely occupied with them. Sam made his way over to Dean, bending down to him.

"Dean…"

His brother groaned, blinking a few times. Relief washed through him. The cut on his head was bleeding, but wasn't deep.

"Are you all right?"

"Great." Dean sat up, raising a hand to his forehead. "Where did it go?"

Sam glanced over at the bridge. The cadejo was moving onto it, towards Robert and Angela, who were backing across it to the other side. Sam grabbed the rifle. "Where are the other tranquilizers?"

Dean blinked at him for a moment, then fumbled in his pocket, handing Sam the last two cartridges. The darts had worked earlier; the remainder might be enough to knock the creature out long enough to slit the throat.

"Stay here," he whispered.

The creature was growing desperate, swiping carelessly in front of it, and rattling the bridge on its supports.

Sam rose and followed quietly after it, making almost no sound as he neared the bridge. The creature was completely focused on the knife in Robert's hand, and was moving slowly, deliberately towards him.

The gun clinked slightly as he lined up the shot, stepping onto the bridge carefully.

The cadejo sensed him and turned, snarling.

Sam pulled the trigger.

The creature twisted around, springing at him as he fired; the dart hit it in the chest, throwing it backwards. Positioned in the air as it was, it landed sideways, the force of its body making such an impact it knocked the gun from Sam's hand. He, Angela and Robert dropped to their knees, reaching for the railings, trying to steady themselves.

The cadejo was flailing on its back, trying to right itself, twisting the metal of the supports.

Robert rushed it, dodging the large paws and straddling the animal's chest as it thrashed about. He leaned forward, crying out as the claws tore at his face, and pinned the animal's head back, making a long slash across the creature's exposed throat. The cadejo let out a choking roar as the knife made contact, spewing blood across the bridge and into the river. It reared up in one powerful motion, tearing and snapping at Robert, knocking him backwards into Sam and showering them both with blood and foam.

The wolf rose on all fours, red eyes rolling wildly into the back of its head, trying to make a sound, the fangs glimmering with blood. With a final shudder it reared backwards, the full weight of the enormous body slamming against the bridge railing. The metal trembled, shaking on its foundations, and with an ear-piercing screech, ripped apart.

Sam felt an overpowering force take hold of him as the entire structure careened to the side, flipping over like a carnival ride. He tried to grab hold of the bridge's slender spindles, but the incredible speed overpowered him, and the metal slipped from his grasp, sending him tumbling headfirst into the river below.

* * *

Dean blinked, watching in horror as the bridge in front of him twisted and the broke apart. For a moment the structure remained motionless, then, within a heartbeat, it spun backwards, sending Sam, Robert, Angela and the cadejo into the water. The metal above them shuddered for a moment, split, and collapsed.

The river exploded beneath the weight, sending a fountain of white water into the air, large waves rolling across and up the river's high banks.

"Sam!" He scrambled to his feet, head pounding, and rushed to where the remnants of the bridge had been, trying to spot Sam beneath the river's rushing waters. The metal of the bridge was bobbing up and down, buoyant with the force of the fall, but quickly sinking beneath the strong currents.

_If it hit them…_

"SAM!" His head was still pounding from the blow he'd taken from the cadejo; he could barely keep himself steady, but he watched the river, wide-eyed, hoping for some sign of life.

"_SAM_!"

There was a splashing sound behind him; he turned, relief flooding through him as Sam's head broke the surface.

"Sam!"

His brother took a breath, flailing for a moment against the current, then steadied himself. "Dean! Where are they?"

Dean shook his head. "They haven't come up yet!"

Sam turned around, scanning the river for signs of Angela and her brother, then dove back down under the water. He emerged a few moments later, shaking his head, and dove back again.

Dean's heart began to race. _Come on…come on!_

Sam surfaced once more, eyes panicked.

"Come on!"

The water broke a few feet downriver; Angela's head emerged from the murk, cradling her brother's body in her good arm. She flailed for a moment, grimacing as she fought the currents with her injured shoulder, and sank back beneath the surface.

Sam turned, swimming towards where they'd gone under. A few moments later he resurfaced, Robert in his arms. Angela appeared beside him. Dean waded out as far as he could to meet them, helping Angela out of the water, then Sam.

They pulled Robert to the shore, letting him sink to his knees. He coughed, conscious, and took in a few deep breaths, grasping mechanically at the wounds on his chest.

Dean scanned the surface of the water, searching for signs of the cadejo.

He didn't hear anything.

Sam coughed once, taking in a deep breath, his dark brown hair dripping across his eyes. "Did you see it?"

Dean shook his head. "It's dead. There's no way it could have survived that."

"It didn't," Robert gasped. "It's gone."

"How do you know that?"

The young man grinned wearily at him, patting the center of his chest. "When you're called, you're called, remember? I'm not called anymore."

Dean snorted. "What—you have supernatural radar or something?"

"When the job's done, _hermano_, it's done."

Dean glanced over at Sam, who shook his head in amazement.

Angela pushed her hair out of her face, squeezing some of it out with her good hand, her injured arm cradled to her stomach. She stared at her brother, who slumped over as soon as he caught her watching at him.

"Roberto?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Hi."

She watched him for a moment, her eyes dark beneath narrowed eyebrows. "What _in the HELL _are you doing here?"

Robert's smile quickly faded. Dean felt himself unconsciously stiffen. Sam, beside him, looked like he'd just been caught stealing at a five and dime.

"Saving your _ass_, what else?"

"Don't talk to me with that kind of language! What are you doing here? How did you get down here?"

He rose, shaking out his hair. "I fixed up the mustang a few weeks ago. I knew you'd take the truck keys. I didn't tell you because you're a _cabroncita_ and you wouldn't let me come."

"So that's why you didn't pitch a royal fit when we left. You were planning on coming out the entire time!"

"I knew you couldn't handle it on your own."

"Hey," Dean said, frowning. "We made a pretty good job of it before you arrived."

Robert scanned him up and down, taking in his bloodied shoulder, the cut on his head, and his shredded clothing. "Sure you did."

"A few more minutes and we would have had it."

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"We _would_. We basically had it. We just needed a little more time."

Sam glanced at him. "Seriously, dude, how hard _did _you hit your head on that rock?"

Dean made a face.

Angela stood, wincing. "You still deliberately disobeyed me. Even if you helped, you disobeyed. And you put your life at risk."

"Not really. I just came, Angelita. I didn't transform. I fought it on my own terms. Or did you forget I didn't shift?"

"No…you just…you could have been killed."

He stood, placing a thin hand on her shoulder. "That was a risk I was willing to take. But I'm not stupid, Angie. I am capable of making those kinds of decisions. You just haven't learned to trust that I _can_."

The expression on her face softened. "Roberto…"

"I have a lot to learn…I won't pretend about that. But there is a lot I can do, without you having to be there, to protect me all the time. You have to let me, Angie. And you have to trust me. That may be hard for you, but you have to try."

"Now that _does_ sound familiar," said Sam softly, standing up next to Dean, who snorted.

Angela sighed, wrapping her good arm around her brother. He smiled, hugging her gently. "Come on. We need to get you home."

Dean took in a breath, then turned to Sam. "Well, I guess our work here is done."

Sam gave him a wan look. "So, I take it you won't object to hanging out a few more days at Angie's place? Or are you still a little uncomfortable?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Are you guys coming?"

They trudged forward, gathering up gear, and headed out of the canyon. Angela moved up alongside Dean. "Give me your keys."

He looked down at her. "What?"

"Let me drive. Or Sam. You look like…"

"_Hades_, I know. And no. I'm driving."

"You're in no shape to drive."

"How do you figure that?"

She glanced at him sideways for a moment, then backhanded him with her fist, into his injured shoulder.

He gritted his teeth, flinching. "What the hell…?!"

"That's why."

"You just wanted to backhand me."

"Maybe. I owed you one. But I still want your keys."

"No!"

"Angie," Robert started to say. She narrowed her eyes and he swallowed, nodding at Sam. "Why don't you drive?"

Dean turned to his brother, throwing him a dark look.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not getting in the middle of this one. I'd rather go back and face the cadejo."

Angela squared off in front of Dean, holding out her hand; he set his jaw, keeping his injured shoulder turned away from her.

A few minutes later he handed Sam the keys.

"Damn stupid…" he muttered as he moved to the passenger's side door. Robert came over past him, loading the rest of their gear in the Impala's back seat. He paused as he pulled out the keys to Angela's Mustang, a car badly in need of some detailing, but otherwise a nice '66 model Ford.

"Don't feel bad," the young man whispered as he passed by. "You just have to get a little stronger to beat out Angie. I mean, she is Nahual, technically. You could say she has a little of the wolf in her."

Dean made a face. "Really. And what do you suggest there, Balto?"

Robert grinned. "Seek the wolf in thyself." He slapped Dean's shoulder, causing Dean to flinch, then walked away, twirling the Mustang's keys around his finger.


	13. Unforgiven

Sam yawned sleepily, moving out onto the small porch overlooking Los Cruces. He stretched, but not too widely, wincing at the dried cuts that ran across his chest and back.

They'd been back at Angie's for a day and a half. Dean had slept most of the time; Sam wasn't surprised, given his injuries after the fight with the cadejo. They'd been worried about him, even pressing for a hospital visit, but Dean had rejected the idea, mostly on the grounds that they were 'sitting ducks' at any community run anything.

Not even Angela had argued with that.

So, they stayed indoors, studying some things, or watching television, or sitting out on the old porch. Sam liked the peace and tranquility of the semi-empty town. It was not something he often got to enjoy anymore.

He managed to contact Ellen, to let her know the problem in Campeon was taken care of. She'd been terse, instructing them to return to the roadhouse if they wanted any more jobs. Sam had a sneaking suspicion she wanted to warn them about something, but didn't bother to ask. They were on their guard 24-7, these days.

Angela strolled out onto the porch, a cup of tea in hand. "Man, the weather really has gotten nice. A little warm, but nice."

"Yeah. It is nice."

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. There were small dimpled lines in her cheeks. He'd never noticed them before. "Who fixed up the car?" he gestured towards the Impala, which sat parked in front of their sidewalk, glinting a newly waxed black.

"Roberto. Gave it a tune up, too. Figured Dean would appreciate it."

"So long as he didn't do anything to the interior."

"No. Roberto's stubborn, not stupid. He knows when not to cross the line."

"Where is he, by the way?"

"Shop," she replied, sitting down in the chair Robert had used a few days ago. "He's feeling so much better he figured he might as well get some good hours in."

"Is he a good mechanic?"

"The best. He's got Dad's intelligence, you know. Just couldn't do anything 'scholarly' with it, because of…well, you get the idea. But people who drive down to that shop get the best service."

"I'm sure."

She leaned back, letting the warm air soak her. "It really does feel peaceful."

"No…vibes, or anything?"

"Not as far as I know. Roberto hasn't said anything, so I'm assuming not." She pulled her legs up under her, sitting cross-legged on the chair. "Actually, I know not. I can tell a little when he's called, and he's not now."

"I can't imagine what a drive like that must feel like."

"Can't you?" she raised an eyebrow, watching him. "I was under the assumption you understood pretty well."

"I don't think so. Maybe, to a certain degree, but not really. What he is—that's something much bigger than I can understand. I get that now. I sort of admire it."

"Well, don't tell him that," she said with a frown. "He's already talking about hitting the road in the area to 'check on things.' You'll end up with a third team member."

"Dean might have a problem with that. I think he sort of likes the idea of it just being us."

"I get that impression too. Keep it that way, okay, Sam?"

"I'll try."

"Not good enough."

He grinned. "I'll try _hard_."

"That's better."

A car rolled by, a newer model, with glinting silver hubcaps. Angela stared at it for a moment, making a face. "Hope there's not a new dealer in town."

"There goes the neighborhood?"

"Exactly." She glanced down at her teacup. "Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is it okay with you? The whole…shapeshifting thing? My family?"

He stared at the Impala, watching as the light played off the shiny silver handles. _He got them almost as bright as they were ten, fifteen years ago…_

"Yeah," he turned to her with a soft smile. "It is."

"You don't feel…conflicted? Because if you did…"

"No. I don't. I don't, I swear, Angie."

She tilted her head to the side. "What about your brother?"

He shrugged. "Dean's…Dean. I think he appreciates your brother. At least, I haven't heard him make any threats towards him, that's something."

Angela snorted. "I guess so."

"You have to understand—after what we've seen, the idea of something…even your brother…being completely good It's hard to grasp. We've done a ton of hunting—and only once or twice come across something like this. You have to cut Dean some slack for not being able to accept it easily."

"But you do, don't you? You can see the gray."

His smile faded, and he swallowed. "I think…sometimes I think I have to."

When he turned back to her, she was studying him with a soft expression. "Well, if you have to, then see it here. And believe it, Sam, because it exists. The unnatural, and good, working together. If that ever changed, I would be the first to let you know. But it hasn't changed. It lives, in my brother. In my family. So you think of us, whenever you start to question it."

"Thanks," he managed to choke out, after a moment. "I will."

She raised the cup to her mouth, turning back towards the road. "Good."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the chirping of the daytime insects filling the air.

* * *

Dean swung open the screen door, tossing his duffel onto the porch, and moved outside, squinting against the bright sunlight. Sam was down at the Impala, shoving bags into the trunk, re-arranging things. Robert was with him, helping him with the gear.

The car was newly waxed, the body tapped out and smooth, with the detailing on the handles, hubs, and trim almost sparkling. There were no visible scratches, no traces of dust, anywhere. Even the tires looked like they'd been changed. He nodded, admiring the pristine work. The kid had some talent, even if he was what he was.

Campeon was as active as it had ever been; not a person in sight down both ends of the long road. He wondered how he'd ever mocked the peace the quiet town exuded. It wouldn't have been bad crashing here another couple of days.

Angela walked up alongside him as he worked his shoulder, wincing. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been asleep for three days."

"Almost."

"How's Rob?"

She grinned, watching Sam as he tried to stuff a bag into the back of the car. Robert shook his head and took the bag out of his hands, reaching into the trunk to shift things. "He's fine. He's a new man, as a matter of fact. Thinks he can do anything." She glanced over at him. "I guess I have you two to thank for that."

He shrugged. "We do what we can. Saving babies from beasts, morphing wolves into humans—teaching old dogs new tricks…"

She smiled lightly at this, though her eyes were tight. "That's no longer a problem for you, huh?"

"It won't be a problem for you, if that's what you mean."

"It's not, but that's fine."

"Some things take time," he said after a moment.

"Well, you should have plenty of that just driving out of the state."

Dean tossed her a look, then grinned slowly, relaxing against a post. She moved up next to him, crossing her arms. "Speaking of heading out, where are you two off to?"

"I don't know. Another job, maybe." He glanced at her. "We won't say anything. About here, you know."

"I know you won't. But I appreciate your saying it. And I hope you'll think about swinging by every once in a while."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's kinda nice down here. Wouldn't hurt. Though the wildlife leaves something to be desired."

"I bet it'll be a little quieter around these parts. Which won't help with my Saturday nights. I don't have many friends down here."

"I can't imagine why."

"I don't beat up every person I meet."

"I was actually talking about Rob…but I could see how your reflex actions might impact your social life."

Angela laughed. "Maybe. Seriously, though, you are more than welcome. Anytime. And if you need to talk, you know how to reach me."

"What, are you offering to be my very own Dr. Phil?"

"Well, Dr. Phil _is_ from Texas." She watched as Sam and her brother placed the last of the stuff in the trunk, her face growing somber. "I had a chance to talk with Sam while you were out."

He stared ahead at the road, narrowing his eyes. "You did."

"He didn't say anything," she replied, catching the expression on his face, "it was what he _didn't _say that makes me a little worried."

Dean frowned for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Well, you shouldn't be. I told you before, Sam's fine."

She held up her hands. "I'm not going to chase you around in circles on this. I'm just saying…"

"Look, it's nothing _you_ need to worry about. I get you know something's up; I'm not going to argue with you about it. But like I told you before, we're not going to shoulder our burdens on you, no matter how many shapeshifters you're related to."

"Yeah, well, I _am _related to them, which means there isn't much outside the realm of my imagination that I can't handle. You should appreciate that, it's rare you'll meet someone that actually sees this stuff the same way youdo."

"Angela…"

"I'm not asking you to tell me what's going on, or even to consider telling me what it is. All I'm asking is that you take a moment now and then to get your head straight. Because one of these days, Sam is going to have one of _those _days, and you're going to need all your strength to be able to handle it."

"That's not going to be the case with Sam," he said irritably. "Because nothing's going to happen to him."

She leaned up against the pole, her own eyes to the pair still arranging the car. "Do you want to know what the most difficult thing about watching over Roberto is? It's not keeping hunters off of him, or making sure he's not seen. It's making sure he doesn't lose himself in what he is—that he doesn't lose hope. I'm the only one who is there for him, who knows what his real life is like. I know that I have to be the one who can give him that hope from time to time. You have to do the same for Sam."

"I know that," he replied casually.

"I know you know it. I don't know if you _understand_ it."

"Look…"

"The only reason he doesn't give in to his own fears is because you're there. If you don't take care of yourself, as much as you take care of Sam, the anger, or worry, or resentment you feel when things go wrong is going to eat you up inside, until you're worn down and beaten. And when that happens…that's when Sam will be in the most danger."

"Angela…" he said exhaustedly.

"It's more than just Sam you have to keep safe. Don't you realize that by now?" She looked up into his face. "Keep yourself safe, Dean."

He shifted, glancing down at her as she turned back to her brother and Sam. There was sincerity in her face—honesty. A little like Sam got whenever he felt sentimental. Dean rolled his eyes, hoisting himself off the support.

She looked over at him, a grin spreading across her face as she took in his expression. "Is that a deal, then?"

He paused, pursing his lips. "Fine. Just…don't expect any sappy phone calls or 'Harry met Sally' crap."

Angela made a face. "You better not. I hate chick flick anythings."

Dean shook his head, smiling after a moment. "That really _is _freaky."

"Something wrong?" Sam asked as he came up to the stoop, staring between them.

"Nope." He reached his hand out for the car keys, wincing a little. Sam held onto them for a minute.

"I can drive."

Dean leaned forward and snatched them from his hands. "You're a bad influence. See what you've done? He's completely forgotten his place."

"He's your brother, man. I take no responsibility_." _

Sam grinned at her.

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off. "Don't even bother. You can't win, trust me."

She tossed him a half-grin. He waved her off. "Bah."

His brother laughed. "I need to bring you by here more often."

"Please," she said. "You come back around here and Roberto's going to get delusions of grandeur. The next thing you know he's going to have _me _on the road."

Robert bounded up next to them. "What might I do?"

"Might not be a bad idea," Dean said, staring them up and down. "A shapeshifting wolf-man could take on a lot of things. Sister wouldn't be too bad at it, either. Although she seems to break easily."

"I can still kick your butt."

"I have no doubt of that."

Sam bent down to hug her gently. "Take care of yourself, Angie."

"You too, Sam."

"And take care of your brother. If you need anything, you know you can give us a call."

Roberto leaned over to him, extending a hand. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime."

She turned to Dean. "Dean."

"Angela."

"Don't go shooting things you're not supposed to."

"Don't go beating up helpless men."

"I won't. Not for a while anyway, I've had my fill." She held out her hand. "It was nice to meet you."

He stared at her for a moment, then pulled her into a loose hug. "Thanks."

"Don't get yourselves killed, okay?"

"Yeah." He yanked on her ponytail as he let her go, and she swatted at him, gently shoving him off the porch. He grinned, turning back to her brother. "Take care of yourself, Rob."

The young man stared at him with his strange, tilted eyes. "I will. Within reason."

"And don't let your sister boss you around too much."

"That's not so easy."

She backhanded him in the stomach, tossing Dean an exasperated look. Dean glanced at Sam, who grinned and started down the sidewalk to the car.

"Hey," she called behind them, "be careful."

Dean whirled around at the door of the Impala, raising a hand in salute. "We always are."

He cranked up the car a few minutes later, as Sam waved one last time to Angela. He could see her figure on the porch, watching the car as it trundled down Los Cruces.

* * *

Angela watched the Impala as it pulled away, her shoulder aching slightly. "Well, that was fun."

Roberto's face had changed; he was watching the car with a dark look as it disappeared down Los Cruces.

"What is it?"

He glanced over at her. "Nothing."

"Come on. I know that look. The Winchester philosophy still rubbing you the wrong way? I don't blame you; I'd like to knock a little more sense into them both myself." Her grin faded at the expression on his face.

"No," he replied, turning back to the road. "It's fine. I'm just…glad they're gone."

"Why would you say that?" She stared at him for a moment, her eyes growing wide. "It's not gone?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Is it not really dead? Roberto! You can't…"

"It's not the cadejo. This is different—less pressing, but much more dangerous. It's finally fading, now. Whatever's coming, it's big, Angelita. And they're right in the middle of it. _He's _in the middle of it."

"Who?"

He gazed back over at her, turning towards the house. "Who do you think?"

The Impala turned the corner, disappearing from sight. She pulled her good arm around her, biting on her lip.

_God…Sam…_

* * *

Sam gazed in the rearview at Angela, watching them go. Dean lazed his wrist out over the steering wheel. "You know, I was wrong about you."

"Really? How's that?"

"I thought you were a complete, total, and absolute nerd. Now, I think you're just a geek."

"And you're a jerk."

"If you'd just hung out with more people like that, Sammy, you might have had a bona fide cool streak to you."

"What, with more people who could kick your ass? Yeah, I'd like that, too."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I coulda taken her."

"Sure."

His brother made a face, but didn't argue with him.

Sam grinned, drumming his hands on his legs for a second. "So…what were you two talking about on the porch?"

"Nothing."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Well, that doesn't sound suspicious. You didn't hit on her, did you?"

"What? No!" Dean frowned. "I don't hit on every girl I meet."

Sam tossed him a look.

"Well, not her, anyways."

"Why not? Still not your kind of girl?"  
"Dude, she sleeps with a .45 under her pillow. _Totally_ my kind of girl. But…she's a friend," he said honestly. "I like her too much to hit on her."

Sam glanced over at him. "Okay, that makes no absolutely no sense, but whatever. So, if you weren't hitting on her, then what were you talking about?"

"Nothing. Stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah. Hunting. Stuff. Just…stuff."

"Stuff."

"Yeah. Stuff."

Silence filtered through the car. Sam tapped his fingers on the doorframe, glancing at his brother suspiciously.

_What could they have been talking about?_

Dean had looked stoic, and slightly bothered. Angela had leaned in towards him, speaking softly under her breath. His brother had been honest, it hadn't looked romantic, but it was intimate, nonetheless.

It hit him after a second.

_Me. They were talking about me._

He glanced over at Dean, who pursed his lips, bending slightly to check through the rearview. He felt a little angry—betrayed.

_What did he tell her?_

Dean punched a tape into the deck, letting it rewind, and glanced over at him. "You mind?"

"Mind?"

"Metallica."

"I don't care."

Dean shrugged, stopping and starting the tape a few times until he found what he wanted. He cranked the volume as the song began to play, the opening notes a soft guitar. Sam craned his head, listening for a moment, as the lyrics began. He looked over at Dean.

"Why are you listening to this? I thought you didn't like this song."

His brother didn't answer him; just let the music play, staring straight ahead at the road, a bland sort of smile on his face. There was a tightness around his eyes as he sang softly along.

Sam leaned his head up against the glass, watching as Campeon disappeared into the flat Texas plains. _What exactly did he tell her?_

"She called herself this, you know," Dean said suddenly. "Unforgiven."

"What?"

"Angela," Dean turned to him. "Kinda stupid, right? Comparing yourself to a song."

"Kinda. But I'm not surprised; she likes to do that kind of thing. English major."

Dean was quiet for a moment. Sam crossed his arms, slumping down further into the seat.

"She said it fits. You think it fits?" He asked suddenly.

"Fits what, Dean?"

"I dunno. Her. Us. You think we're unforgiven?"

Sam watched the scenery roll by, resisting the urge to look at him. "Do you care whether we are or not?"

"Not really. But she thinks she is."

"Well, then, maybe she is."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Dean. Because she won't ever be able to choose where she wants to go or what she wants to do. Because she's bound to do what she's doing until she dies, or he dies. Because no one gave her the choice for anything different. Because she wants to be. Isn't that the point of the song?"

There was silence. The song played through, nearing the end of the second refrain.

"No."

Sam looked around. Dean was staring ahead, but his eyes were narrowed in thought, hands tight on the wheel. "That's not the point. The point is to not regret making the choices you make. She doesn't. She just doesn't make the choice everyone thinks she should."

"And what is that?"

Dean looked over at him. "To be alone."

Sam stared at him.

Dean met his eyes, watching him for a minute, then turned back to the road.

He knew, immediately, he'd had nothing to worry about.

_He didn't tell her anything._

Dean laughed quietly, a half-smile suddenly playing on his face as he shook his head. "'I dub _thee_ unforgiven.' Damn. She is a _freaky _smart chick."

Sam shook his head, confused. "What?"

"Nothing." Dean said, still smiling, and reached for the volume dial as the opening bars of 'Wherever I May Roam,' flooded through the speakers. "So…where to?"

Sam shrugged, watching as he drummed out the opening riff on the wheel. "I don't know. Where do you feel like?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Wherever, brother. I ask no one."

"Call me what you will?"

"Exactly."

"There's supposedly a Chupacabra two counties over."

"Uh, no thank you. I've had enough to shape-shifting Spanish-speaking monster type things for now."

"Well, then, there was a mention online of two kids who disappeared in Nebraska. There's also rumored to be a hitchhiker ghost legend in that area."

"Ghosts, ghosts are good. I can do ghosts." Dean pressed his foot to the accelerator, letting the car purr down the straight, flat highway. The Impala settled into a comfortable speed, putting distance between them and flatlands of the south, heading off into the night until the only visible points were the twin taillights glimmering red in the darkness.

END THE UNFORGIVEN


End file.
